Blur
by nine miles to go
Summary: JD blows off the vision blurs and dizziness. After all, what could go wrong? LONGER THAN A ONESHOT! JDA.
1. Chapter One

Okay, you're not imagining this...I'm creating a story that ISN'T a one-shot! I've been prepping for this a while now...actually, I've done a lot of research on--NUH UH I won't tell you, it's a SURPRISE. But, yes, JD has it (duh). And don't even try to guess, because it's not, like, your typical disease. It's not, like, rare or anything--you just never really hear about it. But anyway. I did my research, right on the CDC website. And if you can't trust the CDC for medical crap, who CAN you trust?

So, this story is brought to you by many hours of Fountains of Wayne music and the CDC! At least the government's good for something.

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter One_

"Hey, what'd you rent?" I asked Turk, jumping onto the couch and kicking my feet up on the table.

He grinned. "Sixteen candles," he said proudly, grabbing the remote and starting the DVD player.

"Aw, I hate that movie," Carla moaned. "It's so overdone."

My mouth fell open. "You…you what?"

"Baby, are you even a real woman?" Turk asked in astonishment.

Carla snorted. "If I'm not, that would mean you've got some serious issues to work out," she reminded him, swatting him callously on the arm.

Ah, but Carla was forgetting Turk's secret weapon.

"Ow, you hurt my diabetes," Turk complained.

Carla gasped. "Oh, you poor baby!" she cried. For a moment my eyes flickered towards her, but I could see the sarcasm contorted on her face. "Stop eating so many cookies and maybe I'll feel a little bit worse for you." Then she smiled sweetly at me. "JD, there are cookies in Rowdy's new 'cage' that'll last you a couple of months."

"Great!" I exclaimed. "Now that I don't have to spend money on cookies…"

_JD stands beside a life size cardboard cut out of himself dressed as a Jedi knight. We cut to another scene, and JD is painting the Eiffel Tower with a curly mustache and a froofy doggy in his lap. Another scene change and JD is filming Dr. Acula with a really hot babe playing a nurse who keeps screaming and screaming…_

God, that girl needed to shut up! I thought.

"…I can call my mom more often. Bad phone bills, you know? Now I can talk longer." I cleared my throat a little more loudly than I intended to.

"You're phone's broken," Turk pointed out.

"Turn on the movie!" Excellent distraction. I'm the king of awkward situations.

"You know, you really ought to get that fixed," Carla nagged me. "Turk won't let me order any food until he calls you, and if he can't call your cell phone, I starve."

"There are plenty of Toaster Strudels in the freezer," Turk countered.

Carla rolled her eyes. "Like I said. I starve."

Damn it, my distraction failed. Time for Plan B!

"Turn on the movie!" I repeated.

"I'm going to go take a bath," Carla announced in a disinterested voice, yawning for effect.

Turk deflated a bit. "She just doesn't understand," I consoled him.

He shrugged. "I'll go get the cookies," he said, getting up without a second thought. My mouth watered. I'd worked a twelve hour shift today and used three cups of coffee to get through it, leading directly to my late night Sixteen Candles splurge with Turk. I couldn't sleep now if my life depended on it! Coffee fixed everything.

"Hmm…they're kind of dirty," said Turk, popping a cookie in his mouth. "Don't let me have more than three."

I nodded, my mouth already too full of cookie to respond. "Whaddaya bean dirdy?" I asked. I took the opportunity to swallow. "They taste just fine to me."

Turk shuddered. "It's Carla. She's getting in my head, man! Always guilt tripping me about junk food!"

"Damn it, Carla, why do you keep trying to keep your husband alive?" I called into the next room.

"Shut up, Bambi," Carla called back. "But thanks," she added as an afterthought before the bathwater started running.

Turk pouted, handing me the rest of the cookies. "Take them all, I don't care," he said, sounding miffed. "She's always watching."

"Damn straight!"

"I'm scared," I mouthed to Turk.

"You'd better be!"

"Ack!" Turk and I both yelled, leaping up from the couch in alarm.

"Shhhh!" I hushed Turk. "The movie's starting."

* * *

Yikes. The next morning I woke up on the couch with silly string all over my face. "Turk!" I yelled into the next room, rubbing my eyes to stay awake. I forgot that coffee had its downsides as well. Stupid coffee…

"Stupid coffee…" Turk moaned.

"Exactly," I agreed, yawning. "How'd I get silly string on my—" I stopped and burst out laughing. Turk walked in with silly string all over the top of his head.

"What?" he demanded. "What, I don't—" He felt the top of his head and gasped. "No WAY!"

"Look, there's a note in my Fruit Loops box!" I exclaimed. "Dear JD and Turk…Ha ha. From Carla."

"She's good," Turk said somewhat bitterly.

"At least she had the decency to leave my hair alone," I said gratefully. "I call the shower!"

"NOOOOOO…"

This was one of my favorite times of day. Turk and I slow-motion raced to the shower, and whoever hit the shower nozzle last won. I inched my foot in front of me slowly—I was at a disadvantage because I was closest, you see—and started pumping my arms in slow-mo time, opening my mouth really wide.

"YOOOUUUU CAAANNNN'T HHHAAAAAAAVVVE IIIIIT," Turk slow-mode spoke.

"IIIIII NNEEEEEEEED IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT," I drawled back.

The shower turned on. We stopped in our tracks, bewildered.

"Idiots. This is my favorite time of day!" Carla sing-songed.

Damn, she stole my idea to have a favorite time of day…hell, she TOOK mine!

"That copycat," I muttered under my breath. I wiped the silly string off of my face with the palm of my hand. "Well, we aren't going to get in there for another two hours, so I'm going to head off." Sasha needed a ride…I was ready to rumble.

I yawned again. "Man, I'm usually not this tired when we…"

"Fall asleep in front of the television," Turk deadpanned, finishing my sentence and wiping the silly string off of his bald head.

My pager beeped. "Damn all residents to monkey hell," I cursed, reading the script. Something about dosages again. I paged back: _Be right there, monkey from hell,_ then decided that wasn't a nice thing to say to Hot Girl, who must have been the "Amanda" paging me. _Sorry, that was my roommate, I'll be there in a sec, _I typed again. Turk was married. What the heck did he care?

I hopped on my scooter, grinning as the wind woke me up. Sasha was the best scooter a guy could ask for. She made me forget that I was a lonely single despite the fact that I am utterly irresistible. But, you know, when the gods of love and all that voodoo crap decide to test you, it's my policy to prove them all wrong with that annual one night stand with that random girl from the bar. What was her name again? Susan? Annie? Hm.

I blinked. The road blurred. "Ack," I muttered, swiping at my eye. Did I have silly string in it from this morning?

I was in the right lane, with a good patch of grass to drive into if I needed to stop. But how could I aim the scooter if I couldn't see straight? I shook my head, trying to make the blur go away, but it stayed. I panicked and veered off the road, causing several people to honk behind me. I stopped Sasha as soon as I was sure I was out of the clear.

My heart was beating fast. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. I opened my eyes again and everything came into focus again. I breathed a sigh of relief, taking off my helmet and running a hand through my hair.

What the hell just happened?

* * *

Teehee. JD torture is my specialty. Review if you EVER WANT TO SEE THIS STORY AGAIN (acts like a hostage-holding maniac). See, I do the () thing because ASTERISKS aren't ALLOWED. HEAR THAT, FANFIC? I NEED 'EM! Okay, um, review, because tomorrow I have the BIGGEST FREAKING cross country meet of the year and I'm SO stressed out because for some inexplicable reason I made varsity (I'm literally number seven out of seven, lol, making me the slowest kid to ever MAKE varsity...damn, were they desperate) meaning I'm going to the UBER BIG SCARY COMPETITION WITH ALL THE BIG KIDS, SO REVIEW!! (takes a deep breath) ASTERISKS! I NEED ASTERISKS!


	2. Chapter Two

Okey-day, here's the second installment of my BRILLIANT story. Lol. I am NOT at all concieted. Okay, well, maybe I'm a little excited just cuz I've had MAJOR writer's block since school started. And yes, I've cranked out two one-shots since then, but they're kind of crappy if you ask me.

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Two _

Eventually I got back on the scooter and drove to work. Lightning never strikes in the same place twice, right? What could go wrong?

I was determined to make this a good day.

"Okay, who's got coffee?" I called. I counted the heads. Five residents with cups. Not bad. "Alright, which one has the most sugar in it?" I asked. Three slightly disappointed residents left—I made a mental note to ask for a cupcake later, for their redemption—and two remained. "Alright…" I narrowed my eyes. "Which one's bigger?"

They popped the tops off and compared. And the frizzy brunette girl wins!

"Why thank you, Christine," I said in my superiority-complex voice. It made me sound like Dr. Cox. "Now get back to doing what you're supposed to do!"

I took a sip of coffee. Mmmm. This day was going to rock.

Someone poked my shoulder. I groaned inwardly, already knowing who was there to destroy yet another one of my moments. "Dr. Cox," I said before I could even turn around.

"That's right, Newbie, the one and only—"

"You know, I'm hardly a 'newbie' anymore—"

"—and it looks like you've finally trained your residents to make a decent cup of coffee. Much thanks," he said with a sarcastic grin, grabbing my coffee from me. I opened my mouth to protest, but he was drinking it already. "Ah. That's some good stuff. I wish my residents had been competent enough to make cuppa joe as good as this one right here, but unfortunately my residents were too busy comparing cup sizes and trading Good Housekeeping tips from the 90s to ever make _me _coffee. Consider this my revenge."

"B-but…" How was I supposed to get through the day _now_?

He turned to leave, but then turned back around. "Oh, and Newbie? No matter how long it takes you try to grow your feet out that extra inch they need to fit into those beautiful high heels of your mother, I will always call you—in the same derogatory, humiliating way I have since day one—Newbie."

"Thank you, Dr. Cox," I said sarcastically, grabbing my charts. Now I was mad. Lack of coffee did me no good. I perked up, though. I was still Newbie, right? Didn't that mean that Dr. Cox still felt some sort of compelling reason to watch my back?

I shook my head. Nope. That was just Dr. Cox talking.

My throat was dry. I was about to meander over to the water cooler when Elliot ran right into me, muttering to herself and staring at a chart.

"Oh, sorry…JD!" Elliot smiled. "Good thing it was you I ran into."

"Why? You got a question?"

"No, it would just be incredibly awkward if I bumped into someone I didn't know. So, uh, thanks for…" she trailed off, suddenly blushing.

"No problem," I said, a bit confused. My voice cracked. Huh. I shuddered, remembering…

"_JD, come out…it's not so bad…" _

_An uncomfortable looking young teen (JD) sits on his bed, covering his pimply face. "No, Dan, I'm not going out with Sharon!" JD squeaks, his voice all mangled. _

"_See, Sharon? I _told _you he was going through puberty!" _

"_Ewwww!!" _

Some things are best not to remember, you know? I cleared my throat. We were too swamped for a water break, anyway, so I decided to get a move on before Dr. Cox said some horribly degrading insult in front of all of my residents (not that it would be the first time, of course). Nope, not today. He could rob me of my coffee, but not of my dignity!

My vision blurred again. I grabbed the counter of the nurses' station, trying to appear as if I were just leaning on it. I looked down at the ground. Everything swarmed back at me in a jumble. I kept blinking.

"Well?"

I heard Dr. Cox's voice, but where was he? Should I look up? I looked up and saw nothing but faint, foggy outlines.

"Are you going to get a move on, or is that wonderfully handsome boy from last night still on your mind?"

"Uh…" I shook my head. The moment passed and I could see again. "Yeah, sure, except he had to leave early because he was late for an appointment with _you_!" I countered, trying not to give myself away.

Dr. Cox sighed, slamming his chart down on the counter dramatically. "Wow. I do believe that that could just be the worst attempt at a joke that I have ever heard."

I rolled my eyes. Here it comes.

"But don't worry, Sheila, there are classes for people like you who don't know how to be funny. You can learn what a punchline is, and by God, sometimes they'll teach you to say things people _actually care about_—that means that instead of hearing you say 'blah blah blah,' to me, I might hear something worthwhile, like 'Dr. Cox, I'll babysit your monster for ever and ever and ever and never give him back,' or something along those lines. But if that doesn't work, you can keep being a total klutz like you usually are, and maybe get a laugh or two. But remember," he said, a serious expression on his face, "we're not laughing with you, doll face. We're laughing _at _you."

"I'm not a klutz!" I called after him.

Yes, you saw it coming. I tripped right after that. Honest to God, sometimes I feel like my life is being controlled by evil narrators from hell who make this sort of ironic thing happen on a daily basis. So why don't I have a laugh track…?

After this brief introspection, I buckled down and started to work.

* * *

"JD," Elliot said bewilderedly, "slow down!"

I continued gulping down the water bottle. I shook my head as I swallowed. "I'm so thirsty. I feel like I've been lost in the desert for a month!"

"I'm definitely lost in Elliot's dessert, man," Turk grumbled, his head in his hands, staring intently at Elliot's chocolate cake.

"Oh, here, have it," she said, pushing it away.

Turk cleared his throat, a look of indignation on his face.

"Oh." Elliot meekly pulled back her plate. "Sorry."

"So, is it just me, or is the hospital mobbed today?" I asked conversationally, taking another chug of water. "It's nuts."

"I know!" Elliot agreed. "Stupid snow, causing all the car accidents…"

"What snow?" Turk and I asked, raising our eyebrows.

"The snow!" Elliot said giddily. "That's what's been causing all the accidents!" The smile remained on her face for a good five seconds before she realized what she'd said. "I mean, it's bad—but—I like snow, okay?" she stammered.

"Uh, Elliot…it's not snowing outside," I said. "It's, like, fifty degrees."

"That's why it's so special!" she chirped, finishing the last bite of her lunch. "I was just saying to Janitor yesterday that snow was my favorite weather. I hope it's sticking…" she mused, standing up to get back to work.

_The janitor sits perched on the highest part of the roof, a cardboard box in his hand. "Okay, don't rush…" he says to himself. "Not too soon...It took long enough to shave all of that ice from the cafeteria smoothies…" _

_He grins as Elliot approaches the hospital, looking tired. "Blonde doctor is SO gonna marry me," he mutters, lightly dumping the box's contents on her. _

_Elliot sees the snow and dances around, going slo-mo like the people in corny movies. "It's snowing!" she cries out in joy, spinning around again. "Snow, snow, snow—" Her pager beeps. "Frick," she says, entering the hospital. _

Stupid Elliot, stealing Turk's and my idea for slow-motioning. "So that's why they didn't have my strawberry kiwi banana smoothie today," I ponder aloud, drinking more water.

"Dude, you need to quit or you're going to have to pee all day long," Turk warned me, forking a piece of lettuce.

"I can't help it, I'm thirsty," I repeat myself, throwing the fourth water bottle in the trash. My stomach feels really sloshy now, but my throat is still incredibly dry. I swallow hard. My throat hurts.

Ew. I didn't even want to go there. I was probably imagining the hurt part.

I swallowed again. Well, even if it was a sore throat, it wasn't as if it were something that would stop me from working today. I geared myself for triple overtime. I was going in!

I stood up. Then I sat back down. Before I knew what was happening, my head started hurting. I looked over at Turk, and it seemed as if he had split in two. I held the temples of my forehead for a moment. Everything was doubled. I shut my eyes and opened them again.

"You coming?" Turk asked me.

"Yeah," I responded faintly. I cleared my throat, trying to make my voice firmer. "I'm coming in a sec." I reached out for the other water bottle, trying to make it look as if that was why I was staying at the table. I couldn't find it. My hand aimlessly scoured the table without any luck.

"You alright, man? You're looking kind of panicky."

"Oh…I…I thought I forgot my keys, but I remember now, they're in my locker. Hey, go on without me, I'm going to finish my lunch really fast, okay?"

"Sure."

I was pretty sure he was gone. I sat and waited out the feeling, staring down at my lap. My eyes felt like they were burning.

I heard the sound of a chair squeaking. "Earth to Dora the Explorer," I heard Dr. Cox say to me. I stiffened. How was I going to get out of this?

"Hello, Swiper the Fox," I responded. Oh. Wait. Wrong answer…

"You know what's weird? See, I have an excuse for knowing about toddler pop culture, seeing as I'm raising Satan's offspring and, well, anything that has even the tiniest bit of moral that can save my poor child from Jordan's influence is a blessing given to us by cracked-up, high-pitched voice actors and starving cartoon artists and—well, that beside the point, now, Dora, how is it that _you _know about a Nick Jr. show?"

I would have opened my mouth to say something, but I was too preoccupied with the sight thing. Fortunately, Dr. Cox came through for me and continued on his schpiel.

"And I know you're sensitive about your age and that whole biological clock thing, Newbie, but you have to admit that you were definitely not a toddler when Dora came out. So fess up. Been hanging out with the Todd a little too often? Or maybe you just decided you wanted to pick up some Spanish so you can tell the Hispanic woman at that really nice nail salon what color polish you want?"

"Um…" My voice cracked. Eye contact. Pretend to make eye contact. "I was baby-sitting your _kid_, remember?" God, I hoped it was his face I was looking at.

"What in heaven's name are you up to?" Dr. Cox asked.

I squinted and my vision returned just as suddenly as it disappeared. "What do you mean?"

"That thing…you're doing with your eyes. Oh, God, don't tell me they've gotten you—Nick Jr. is taking over the world, isn't it? Oh, please, no—"

"It's nothing," I said quickly. I wanted to get out of the cafeteria and pretend it never happened. If I just kept pretending, it would go away, right? It had to go away. I practically never got sick, minus that little appendix incident my first year here. Ick, that was bad timing.

"Try not to run into any—"

Ouch.

"Doors," Dr. Cox finished, that last word coming out as a snort.

Like I said. I need a laugh track.

* * *

Bear with me, the fic will get some more action soon. I just need to have a build up that drives you peoples OUT OF YOUR MINDS. Lol.

Thanks for all the luck for the meet, guys :D I did SO well and it's all because you guys believed in me! I got my best time ever, it was like twenty one minutes and something seconds for a 5k and I am SO happy! Plus I'm not the slowest on varsity anymore, because I passed the freshman (I'm a sophomore with scary pride, lol, even though none of my friends know since I act so goofy) on my varsity team. I'm numbah six outta seven. LOL and guess what my number was?? 66! I was like, "Well, it's the devil's number, but at least I didn't get--HAHA, JAMES GOT 69! HAHAHAHA!" Teehee, yay for immaturity.

Errk I'm gonna sneeze. Ew. I did. Lol. Whatever was on that course, I was ALLERGIC to, because all through it I had ucky phegm lol and I won't get into any more detail. It was EVIL because I was, like, hacking and coughing during the race. But meh, I got a best time, so who cares??

Chapter three...will be up, er...when my history test is GONE. lol. I'll try to find free time, but with cross country wrapping up and swim team starting and Science Olympiad and baby-sitting and work and chorus concerts/auditions and volunteering (lol, if you read my other fics, you've heard all of my bitching before, so omit that last part), I CAN'T WRITE. Plus, I'm trying to prep for Halloween, ya know? It's a lot of busy work. I have to make myself look like I'm not a fifteen-year-old trick-or-treating. Baby voice and dimples. I'm PRACTICING, alright??


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Don't own Scrubs.

Ugh it's like 11:43 at night...how the hell did that HAPPEN...? That's it. Fanfic's an addiction.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Three_

Turk was right. I _did _have to pee…all day long. And the Janitor kept staring at me every time I walked in, tsk-tsking and shaking his head. It was getting to be humiliating—not that most instances involving the Janitor weren't already—but on top of all that, my thirst had not yet been quenched!

"Is that Gatorade Endurance?" Elliot asked, cocking her head at the half-empty bottle. Wait—why did I think half-empty? Shouldn't it be half-full? Oh, God, I just cursed myself for the rest of the day, didn't I? Stupid accidental pessimism…

"Is _it_ in you?" I said dramatically, reading the side of the bottle.

Elliot rolled her eyes. Carla snorted. "Are you trying to go on one of those water cleansing crash diets, JD?" she said sympathetically. "Cuz honey, believe me, they'll never work…"

"I'm a doctor, Carla," I reminded her, cocking an eyebrow, "and I happen to be an extremely thirsty one."

"But then again, Donut—I mean Dana—losing a bit of that baby weight you just couldn't shake off from that stressful freshman year in med school wouldn't be such a bad idea, you know? I mean, you might think it's too late since you're getting so old and it's just so hard to burn it all off because you're stressed, but believe me, Kristie Alley and the Jenny Craig diet proved me wrong. Just ask Bobbo over there, his wife lost two pounds and he lost fifty because he was so revolted by the sight of her."

"Good afternoon, Dr. Cox," I greeted him, my voice scratching again. "I think I'm losing my voice."

"You're not allowed to get sick. The guy who was supposed to work the next shift just got sick and now you're filling in for him," Dr. Cox responded with an enormous smile on his face. "But don't worry, you won't have to be bored, Newbie, because guess who's joining you?"

Elliot yawned loudly, not paying attention to our conversation. Dr. Cox scowled, irritated. "Well, it was going to be that guy with the afro, but I think Barbie ought to be the good guy and let him have the night off. What do you think?"

Elliot's eyes widened. "I can't, I have a crocheting class tonight—"

"Wah," Dr. Cox mocked her, pretending to rub his eyes from crying. "I'm so sorry, I know how much you love making those hats with the frilly little bobbles on top and the tie-strings to keep you warm during the long, cold winter nights at the hospital, but maybe this year you can just stick a blanket over your head. Spare us the trouble of looking at you."

"Yeah, um, I have to go…cry in the supply closet," Elliot excused herself, making a break for it.

Carla shrugged. "Guess I'd better go, too. Way to go, Dr. Cox!"

"What, you don't see Newbie here crying, do you?"

"On the inside, Dr. Cox," I said sentimentally, pointing towards my heart.

Dr. Cox's scowl deepened. "You are such a homosexual," he sighed, leaving me.

I stretched out my arms, trying to wake myself up. Taking another shift meant eight more hours of work. I wasn't sure if I could stay awake without my coffee from this morning. My shoulders were stiffening even as I thought of the deprivation—I rolled them, trying to make the stiffness go away, but it didn't work. Geez, talk about coffee withdrawal…

Mmm. Coffee.

_JD is running in a field towards a woman with a label for a coffee company written across her chest. Corny music plays in the background as they run towards each other, arms outstretched, and finally reach…_

"_Oh, coffee," JD says aloud, starting to make out with the coffee girl. _

"_Wait," the girl says, backing up. "Let's take it slow. I don't want to rush into anything…I've never really had a boyfriend before." _

"_But I thought you were Seattle's Best?" JD inquires. _

_The girl slaps him in the face. "HOW DARE YOU?" she screams, running away. _

"_WAIT!" JD calls after her desperately. "I NEED YOU!!" _

I touched my cheek. Coffee girls packed some major punch. I yawned again. Maybe my reliance on coffee wasn't such a great thing, considering I felt like I'd been through a meat grinder right about now.

Later in my shift Elliot came to me with a chart, asking for my opinion on a car crash patient's medication. I looked at the chart.

I couldn't read it.

"What…?" I muttered. The text looked like blurry jibberish. I couldn't focus on it. I squinted harder. "What did you write there?"

"The patient's name," Elliot said defensively, taking the chart away. I grabbed it back, still trying to read the writing.

"I think I'm losing my mind," I admitted, rubbing at my eyes. My eyelids felt heavy and my shoulders were even stiffer-feeling than before. What I needed was hot chocolate and a nice nap in one of those massage chairs that the drugstore lets you try out for free sometimes.

"Welcome to my world," Elliot said sarcastically. I decided not to tell her about my strange eye issues. It wasn't her problem, anyway, and anyone who took one look at this hospital could tell that we had enough problems on our hands.

My shoulders were starting to ache to the point where it almost felt like I couldn't move them. "Check you later," I called to Elliot, deciding to sit down for a moment. As soon as I did sit down, however, my pager beeped. There was a patient arresting. I leapt up, trying to get to the scene.

I was the first to arrive. I tried to move my arms and grab the equipment I needed, but my arms didn't work. Plain and simple. I couldn't move anything above my elbow for a moment. Panicking, I yelled out for Elliot, who was, fortunately, about three seconds behind me, and she handled the situation. I took a deep breath. The guy was going to live…I hadn't managed to kill him with my screw up.

"What the hell happened back there?" Elliot demanded, blowing a stray hair out of her face.

"My arms…wouldn't move," I said honestly, flexing my fingers. I tried to roll my shoulders again. They rose about half an inch and flopped back to my side.

"You think this is a joke?" Elliot reprimanded.

"No!" I yelled at her. I was getting so frustrated with today. Everything was going wrong. "I mean _my arms wouldn't move_! There's something screwy going on with my arms!"

Elliot scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I tried to lift my arm. It rose about a quarter of the way up, but nothing more. "That's as far as it'll go, and it hurts like hell," I said, only realizing this truth as I said it aloud. They had been hurting for hours, and I'd been ignoring it, trying to plow through the day. If I hadn't been lucky, it could've cost that guy his life.

My eyes almost welled up at the thought, but I controlled myself. It was Elliot, after all. I couldn't cry in front of the Champion of Criers.

"JD…you'd better get that checked out," Elliot said, sounding concerned. "I mean, you've been acting strange all day…"

"I have not," I countered.

"You kept spacing out—you couldn't even read the chart I gave you," Elliot recalled, thinking back on our previous encounters.

"I always space out!" I reminded her.

"I love honesty," Dr. Cox chirped from behind me. Damn it. Score one for Dr. Cox and none for me.

"Look, JD," Elliot said in a quieter voice once Dr. Cox rounded the corner into another hallway. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but you should see a doctor."

"I am a doctor."

Elliot frowned. "Please don't fall into the macho doctor stereotype…" she pleaded. "It could seriously cost you. Get that checked out." She was going to leave, but added, "Do you need a ride?"

I bit my lip, trying to think. Would I be able to ride Sasha like this?

"No, I'm good," I lied. I wasn't about to go bumming rides when I had a perfectly ride-able scooter in the lot. "Thanks, though."

"If you're sure…"

"I'm sure."

I was also alarmingly sure that I needed to pee. Really badly. "Tally-ho!" I said without a bit of enthusiasm in my voice. Time to get humiliated by the Janitor.

* * *

I'd inflict you all with more tales about my incredibly boring life, except it's now 11:46 at night (two minutes have passed since I wrote that at the top! lol) and I'm gonna sleep now. On the KEYBOARD. Comfylicious. Review whilst I dream, purdy please! 


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Four_

It was still dark out when my shift ended, probably somewhere around midnight. I was glad that the roads were fairly empty. Less people meant less potential to…geez, I was thinking as if I were going to go on a suicidal mission into the frontline of a war. The air outside was cool and crisp, but it did nothing to bring back the looseness in my shoulders I had taken for granted just this morning.

I tried to sign out, but it wasn't working right. I mean, I guess _I _wasn't working right. It took me a minute or so to creak my arm up and finally hit the buttons. I could see my arms shaking. I felt like an idiot.

I sighed with relief when I finally finished with all of the buttons I had to press for my social security number. Damn it, why were social security numbers so long, anyway? It took me months to remember it when I was an intern and had to type it in for the first time.

"JD," I heard a soft voice from behind me.

"Oh, hey, Elliot," I rasped. Damn voice. Damn everything! Everything be damned today. I just wanted to sleep more than anything in the world, and that was it.

Elliot shifted uncomfortably. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be," I said, shaking my head at her. I grinned. "I'm fine." I was going to put a hand on her shoulder, but I couldn't lift it. "It'll wear off tomorrow, I'm sure."

"You're not invincible," Elliot reminded me again. "You can be hurt."

"I'm not hurt. I'm fine."

"Let me drive you home," she pleaded.

Turk groaned from behind us. "Not this again…I thought you two were through with sleeping together for pick-me-ups."

"Ew," we both said at the same time, revolted. "Never."

Elliot glared. "Are you implying that I'm not good in bed?" she demanded angrily.

"Well gee, Elliot, I don't know—what were _you _trying to imply about _me_?" I shot back, my voice cracking again.

Turk put his hands up defensively. "Hey, didn't mean to open that can of worms…" He frowned at me. "You sound like a dying frog."

I shook my head again. I never realized how often I used my hands and arms to express myself until I was trying to act normal without much movement in my shoulders. Honestly, I was starting to get a little scared.

"JD, lift your arm," said Elliot.

I bit my lip. "What is this, Twister? You sucked at that while we were dating," I retorted. Pissing her off was better than her persistence. I'd rather have her stalking off mad than bugging me about this.

"Fine," she said haughtily, "go get into an accident. What do I care!"

"What is she getting at?" Turk asked, completely oblivious. I thanked my lucky stars. Hmmm. Where did that quote come from, anyway? What made some stars luckier than others? It was like discrimination. Little kids always liked the bigger ones. I knew that from _now _on, I would treat all stars equally!

"I don't know." I tried to shrug. Eh. My heart beat a bit faster—this was getting a little frightening. What if it didn't go away? What if it got worse?

No. All I needed was some sleep.

"Man, you're voice is out the window," Turk laughed. "I wish you could hear yourself."

I forced a smile. God, my arms were hurting. "Let's just go home," I said. "Tomorrow will be better."

"You kidding? Today rocked!" And then Turk went on about his god damn lovely _perfect _HAPPY_WONDERFUL _day. I hated being a downer, but life just sucked.

I went to go find Sasha when Turk and I separated in the parking lot. I sat down and stayed there for a few minutes, wondering what I should do. Elliot was right. I couldn't even lift my arms to bring my hands up to the handle bars. I felt like an old arthritic man, and my throat hurt, and…

I lost my vision again. The parking lot blurred. I nearly grinned, thankful that I hadn't started the scooter yet, that I could just sit here and wait it out—but it wasn't going away. I fixed my eyes towards my lap, seeing the vague blackness of the seat cushion.

"Go home, Newbie," I heard someone say to me after a few minutes.

I took a deep breath. "I'm going to. I was just thinking."

"Thinking?" Dr. Cox scoffed. "Now, that's news to me. What the hell's wrong with you today? You're screwing everything up."

"It's the way you raise my self-esteem and make it sky-rocket that really makes you a brilliant mentor," I said sarcastically. I sighed, and as I did, my vision came back partly. Enough that I could find the general direction Dr. Cox was standing in and look at him. "I think I need my eyes checked."

"Ah, that's what porn does to you," Dr. Cox said, shaking his head in a mock-disappointed manner. "Eyes glued to the screen…before you know it, your poor retinas start to pay for the damage."

For a moment there I thought he might actually help me. But then I snapped back to reality. "Yeah. Thanks." I was too tired for comebacks—it was late, everything hurt, I just wanted the world to stop for a moment.

The uncomfortable silence was broken when I forced myself through sheer determination to reach the handle bars of the scooter and rev up the engine. I hoped I didn't look too strained, but then again, it was Dr. Cox here. He'd probably call me constipated or something terribly humiliating—well, right now there wasn't much of an audience, so he wouldn't be as bad if he happened to notice.

He didn't. Why would he? It's not like he's a doctor or anything.

"Night," I said, driving off. As long as my arms were resting on the handlebars, I was okay. Dr. Cox didn't say anything. I kept driving.

By some miracle—a miracle that made me wonder if God maybe didn't really hate me—I made it home last night. Home being the apartment that I currently play third wheel in with Turk and Carla.

_Corny theme show credits start. THE APARTMENT, bold letters read on the screen. Starring CHRISTOPHER TURK as the husband…CARLA ESPINOSA as the wife…and DR. JOHN DORIAN as the third wheel! _

I knew Turk was a doctor too, but honestly, doesn't Dr. Turk sound a little wrong? Dr. John Dorian…now that's a doctor's name right there.

Turk and Carla were watching something on television when I walked in. I opened my mouth to say hello, but I figured it wouldn't be worth the embarrassment since my voice clearly wasn't going to come back anytime soon. Besides, my throat hurt. I could hardly swallow at this point. Getting up the stairs was another miracle in and of itself—why bother with the extras, like greeting the roommates you still freeload off of?

Just as I was closing the door, Carla said, "Night, Bambi."

I had already hit the bed and fallen asleep.

* * *

When I woke up, I couldn't breathe. I shot up in bed and every bone in my body ached. My throat was closed up and it felt as if a hundred pounds of weight had been dropped on my lungs, preventing them from filling with air.

I struggled for a good thirty seconds, trying to suck in oxygen, when I was finally able to breathe again. Then I leaned back onto the wall, breathing in and out, savoring every second of it. My head was ringing. The room was foggy and dark, I couldn't focus on anything.

I was afraid.

So even though it was three in the morning and I had a twelve hour shift starting at seven, I didn't go back to sleep. I stared into the blurred abyss that was my room, shuddering every so often when I couldn't breathe very well, and let the feeling of dread for my shift settle in my stomach while I waited.

* * *

That's right...we're building the suspense for the big SHABANG, which is probably really predictable because it happens in, like, every ONE of the JD angst fics, but I won't speak it aloud so you can be "surprised," eh? Eh. Review, it makes me happy!


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Five_

Turk gave me a ride here this morning. Fortunately, respecting the unspoken code of macho-ness, he either chose to ignore the fact that I was unbelievably slow and sluggish this morning or he hadn't noticed. Usually I took the stairs every morning—it was my daily exercise routine, walking up and down—but I didn't on the way to work. I took the elevator instead, for the first time ever. It reeked of Middle Eastern cooking.

_An immigrant family is cooking rice of some sort in a large bowl by a log fire burning in the elevator. JD walks in. "Want some, sonny?" asks one of the women in a distinctly southern accent, just as the fire alarms go off and the sprinklers start. _

Southern middle-easterns…I was certainly loopy.

Now I was half leaning, half standing by the nurse's station counter. Everything ached. I wished I could shut my eyes and make my patient list go away, but those god damn people kept on getting sick. I could hardly swallow myself, though. I supposed I shouldn't be talking. My throat was completely coarse and it was near impossible to talk, an action I'd managed to avoid the half hour I've been on my shift. Hmmm…funny that no one's missing it…

"JD, open your eyes, it's a bright new day!" Elliot chirped.

I frowned. She instantly frowned back.

"You look like crap," she said bluntly.

I nodded. Just don't talk. Anything but talking.

"Yo, Newbie, you gotta go tell Mr. Cranshin he's dying of brain cancer because none of your patients have died lately, and frankly, I don't think it's fair that I should have to tell him when you haven't had the chance to ruin someone's dreams in the past two weeks," Dr. Cox announced before walking past me.

Geez, talk about a drive-by patient dump. He was gone before I could even protest, not that I couldn't have managed it. What the hell—did he say that all in one breath?

Elliot rolled her eyes. "So? What's up with you? You looked like you didn't sleep at all."

Don't talk, I thought. Okay, uh, shrug at her. Crap! I couldn't shrug. Everything was all loose and jumbled. It'd be a miracle if I made it towards my first patient's room, let alone got out of this mess with Elliot.

She looked at me expectantly. I took a deep breath; it caught it my throat and cut me off for a moment. I had learned through many similar situations in the previous night not to panic, just to wait it out for a second and then breathe in slower.

"JD?"

"I'm good," I croaked. It sounded so rasped that I wondered if the vowels were even discernable. I would have cleared my throat, but my muscles couldn't even manage that. I cringed; it hurt to speak.

Elliot gasped. "You sound awful."

I shook my head. Even that hurt. I was so frustrated that I just wanted to go collapse on the couch in the break room—except Dr. Cox was probably already watching his soap, and if he wasn't in there, then the Todd was in there petitioning to get us more cable so he could watch the hot women on MTV.

"Go home," Elliot told me.

I closed my eyes impatiently. "No," I whispered, not willing to say anymore. Then I flashed her what I hoped was a "dangerous look," although I haven't quite managed to master it, despite Turk's attempts to teach me. I took another breath, focusing on it. Why was this hurting so much? Would I ever sleep again? I couldn't believe the hell this was.

"Why not? You're practically falling asleep, and your eyes are all droopy and tired. You can hardly stay awake. Look in a mirror, would you?"

I wouldn't be able to reach a mirror if I tried—I knew that. I tried to smile at her. It must have looked as painful as it was, because she took a step back.

"You can't work like this. Don't be stupid."

The truth was, I knew she was right. But I didn't want to leave and be a disappointment. Now that there were residents under me and Elliot, we were finally getting some respect. Dr. Cox, though he would never admit it, was actually trusting us a little bit more. I didn't want to break that already. I'd hardly been chief resident for two months.

I pursed my lips, gathered up what little strength I had, and walked away.

"You're an idiot," Elliot called after me, worry in her voice. I wished I could turn back and apologize, but I had no energy left. I barely made it to the stairwell, leaning against it to shove it open.

It was there that it happened. My head twanged with unbearable pain that seemed to shoot all the way up through my feet; my eyesight blurred, and I fell over. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. The door shut behind me. No one could see as I, humiliatingly enough, toppled down a flight of stairs.

I couldn't even yell. Just when it seemed like the banging and thrashing would never end, I hit the wall at the bottom with a thud. My heart was beating fast. I couldn't see anything. I was breathing in gasps, but my throat was closing up.

It wasn't just blurry anymore. My eyes were fuzzing, consumed with flashing bits of light. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe!

Calm down, I told myself. Calm down. I just needed to calm down and then I'd be able to breathe…

But I couldn't. I was surrounded by air, and smothered by the loss of it at the same time. Shapes were forming in front of my eyes…some of them looked like baby fishies…I was done.

* * *

"Dr. Cox." I tapped him on the shoulder.

Dr. Cox stiffened. "Barbie, please don't tell me you honest to God just tapped me on the shoulder," he says in a forced force, craning his neck around at me. "Because back in '95, the last time someone tapped me on the shoulder—it was a patient, no joke, Barbie—I ripped the IV out of his arm and wrapped it around his neck, then forced him to sing 'The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow' until his face was blue. Not that this would be a problem for you, seeing as you and your lesbian friend know all the lyrics—"

"JD and I broke up four months ago, Dr. Cox," I reminded him, not realizing he'd used the "lesbian" bit again. He gave me an incredulous stare. "Frick," I muttered, stamping my foot down.

"Alrighty, then, if you don't need me for anymore love advice…"

"Dr. Cox, I need to talk to you!"

He looked up at the ceiling. I waited. "What?" I asked impatiently.

He shook his head. "Sorry. I was just silently asking God why."

Good, he was looking at me for two whole seconds. "I think there's something seriously wrong with JD," I burst quickly.

"JD? Who's JD?" asked Dr. Cox, playing dumb.

"I mean Abby," I said as sarcastically and bitterly as I could manage. "Take me seriously, would you?" I snapped.

Dr. Cox smirked. "Alright, I'll 'take you seriously,'" he said, using air quotes. "Is she losing her sex drive? Stealing your bras? Because I've seen the straps, Barbie, and they are an appealing color pink…"

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, stopping outside of the stairway door I'd followed him to. "You're such a jerk. You don't even give a damn about him, do you?"

Dr. Cox opened the door to the stairs, blowing out some air. "Look, if there were really something wrong with—" His face contorted and paled.

"What?" I demanded.

I heard rasping on the flight of stairs below us. I peered down and saw JD barely managing to lean against the side rail, clutching his chest and heaving for air. Blood trickled from his head, and several bruises were already starting to form.

"Newbie…"

* * *

Well, I've done the impossible, everyone. I've managed to procrastinate my homework by a). reading fanfiction, b). writing fanfiction, c). thinking about writing/reading fanfiction, d). rereading a seventh grade English book (anyone else like the Outsiders? Poor Ponyboy!), and e). watching Scrubs on YouTube. I've officially seen every episode. That's right...it doesn't get much more depressing than that. (asterisk) SOB (asterisk)...god $$!&#& homework.


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Yikes! Sorry it took so long to update. I couldn't upload last night or otherwise this would have been up sooner. You would not BELIEVE the amount of homework I have...are there any other obsessive peoples reading this?--cuz I've literally got four minutes left to do this, according to my schedule (which ensures that ALL OF MY HOMEWORK gets done by organizing every minute of my existence hour by hour, minute by MINUTE). This is my fifteen minute recess till I start studying for some stupid college course I shouldn't have taken...I'm not in college, btw...lol...tenth grade, which SUCKS as far as classes go, and yes, I KNOW it only gets worse (I'm addressing the older audience here, should there be any) but--CRAP, two minutes! READ THE FIC!

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Six_

"Barbie, if you say a word…" I muttered as I ran down the stairs. I didn't need an "I told you so" about now. Fortunately, the opposite sex has a more innate sense of what's right and wrong to say at a given moment…that not including Jordan, of course, but I'd had my doubts about her from the start…

Barbie stayed at the top of the stairs, saying something fast and high-pitched that probably wasn't directed at me anyway. "Newbie," I said, grabbing his shoulder.

He didn't flinch. It was like he hadn't felt me there. I shook him.

"Ack," he gasped, his chest heaving for air.

"What happened?" I demanded.

His face looked pained and white as a sheet, his eyes shut tight. "Fell," he whispered hoarsely. His back hit the wall and he slid down, crumpling to the floor and groaning. He looked like a broken puppet.

Anyone could tell that there was something worse than falling that was wrong with him. Anyone with half a brain, at least. God dammit, why hadn't I noticed? Even Barbie, who was usually to busy fretting about which guy slept with her and dumped her the next week, had managed to notice.

I looked up at the chief resident, who was at my side by now, clearly panicking. "What's been going on?" I demanded.

Newbie's eyes clearly shot her a warning glance.

She hesitated.

"Now," I said, louder. I shined a light in Newbie's eyes, checking for a concussion. I realized his head was bleeding, but he seemed to respond to the brightness…though he again didn't flinch. He didn't move at all. It was quite the change from the normally jumpy, fidgeting kid who annoyed the hell out of me every day.

"He, uh…"

Newbie's eyes started to close, like he was struggling to keep them open. Come to think of it, it seemed as if he'd been doing that a lot these past two days…I felt so stupid. I was supposed to be a doctor.

"I said NOW, dammit!"

Barbie cleared her throat, and said in a high-pitched voice, "JD can barely move his arms, they're practically frozen stiff," she blurted. "He can barely talk, either."

"Heaven forbid," I growled sarcastically. "Go get a gurney, would you?"

I had to look away from the kid. I couldn't stand it, it didn't seem real. Why hadn't I just gone to get the damn gurney and left the ditz with him?

"Dr. Cox."

His voice was startling. It barely came out in a whisper, but it was forced and scratchy. I still couldn't look at him, it was too creepy. This was Newbie we were talking about.

And then I felt ashamed. He was a patient now, not Newbie. He needed my help. Why couldn't I just freaking give it to him?

"I'm sorry," he said.

I shook my head. "No, I am," I said, finally looking at him. His face was astonishingly white, his lips tinged a slightly blue color. It hit me then—he could hardly breathe. That was why he'd been gasping like that, not because of the shock. I should have known better—for God's sake, it was Newbie, he'd get up at tell a corny joke.

"Damn it," I uttered for an umpteenth time in the past two minutes. "Breathe, kid."

He closed his eyes again, trying to focus. I heard the air catch in his throat. He opened his eyes again, looking positively terrified. It probably wasn't helping that I was just as scared as he was.

"Calm down," I said, not sure which one of us I was saying it for. I let the words hang. The kid was shaking, though he didn't seem aware of it. He finally fell limp against the wall, unable to hear me anymore.

I froze. For the first time in my whole life as a doctor, I froze. I felt like a helpless intern—no, scratch that, I felt like a high schooler who hadn't learned CPR yet. It was unreal.

_What the hell's wrong with you today? You're screwing everything up…_

My own words from only the night before came back to haunt me. I think I need to get my eyes checked, he said. He couldn't even make eye contact. How the hell did he even get home last night?

What had I done to deserve this?

It was some other doctors who finally came and took JD away on the gurney. I didn't even see their faces. I just stayed there kneeling for a moment, then stood up to find a tear-streaked Barbie.

"This is all my fault," she wailed.

"You better believe it," I growled, not willing to admit that I hadn't even noticed. That I was the most ignorant "doctor" to ever walk the planet.

She hiccupped and let out a sob. "You bastard."

_I know_, I thought. She was absolutely right.

"You just don't care, do you?" she said hysterically. I stared at the wall. "You just don't care. That's my best friend. That's the guy who's looked up to you since day one. And you just don't give a damn."

I stiffened, thinking of Newbie's helplessness, the desperation in his eyes. How I could do nothing to stop it. I rounded on her.

"You don't know a thing," I practically spat at her, so angry I was near seeing red. Her words stung. A part of me knew that I was the kid's "mentor," even though I denied it. Who in their right mind chose senile Dr. Cox as their mentor? What was I doing right? I just proved myself completely worthy over there, didn't I?—saying nothing as he passed out from lack of oxygen.

I saw her and realized what I was doing, yelling at her. Usually I don't care what other people think about me, but seeing Elliot sitting at the top of the stairwell with big orbs of tears rolling down her face hit it home. She'd really grown. They all had. I'd come not to expect her to cry at the drop of a hat like she had as an intern. In fact, yesterday I'd been thinking about how JD and Elliot and all of them didn't need me anymore…

I was wrong.

"I'm sorry," I said gruffly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She twitched, then relaxed. "No, I am," she said, her voice lowering from the dog whistle pitch. "I didn't mean it. I know you care."

I didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say. We stood there for a few awkward moments before we were both paged. Instinct caused us to break the brief bond and check the pagers—it was Carla, demanding our presences.

So she'd heard.

* * *

Dr. Richards was assigned to Newbie's case. I immediately hounded him of course, ignoring Carla's page. Barbie would explain.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" I demanded.

Dr. Richards looked a little astonished. "You mean JD? I really don't know, he's not awake yet…"

"Where is he?"

He pointed behind him. "Assisted breathing," he reported, getting straight to the point. He'd dealt with me before; he knew that this was the closest thing to a pop quiz he'd ever get in his thirties.

"Are you running tests?" I asked impatiently. Maybe I wouldn't be able to look at the kid, but I could make sure his doctor wasn't an incompetent screw up.

"As soon as he wakes up and we question him. We aren't sure what we're looking at yet."

"That blonde ditz of a doctor—Dr. Reid, I mean—she said he'd been having a sort of muscle weakness. He could barely talk, his voice was gone. And the breathing…" He already knew, so I let it hang. "He's been acting tired for the past few days."

Dr. Richard's face grew solemn. "Sounds like there might have been some warning signs we missed," he suggested.

"Hey," I warned him angrily.

He kept walking, not even bothering to glance up at my threat. "Of course, he'll need stitches for his head," he continued. "But if you're right about his symptoms, we're going to need to do a lot of testing."

"What are we testing for?" I asked, my mind muddled.

Dr. Richards boarded the elevator and shrugged. "You're a doctor, too," he reminded me.

I closed my eyes as the elevator doors closed. Guillain-Barre syndrome. Myasthenia gravis. Drugs. Lyme disease. Toxoplasmosis. Polio, for God's sake, and that was only the beginning! It could go on forever…I opened my eyes again, trying to think.

I felt useless…I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Carla," I said, instantly recognizing the touch.

"He's going to be all right," Carla assured me, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. She bravely stood up straight, her chin slightly jutted out to assert her statement. "He'll be fine."

"I hope you're right."

* * *

So there you go. One minute left. Yipers! Better upload this! Please review :D 


	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Guess what, suckers? I HAVE A FOUR DAY WEEKEND! God bless teacher work days...oh and guess what else? Ya know that college course (that BLEEPING EvIlnEsS I bitch about lots, lol) that I was freaking out about cuz of the quarter exam everyone in the past usually fails? I got a B!! An 85! Thank god for blind guessing, cuz whenever I didn't know something I was like, "Hmmm...uhhhh..." (asterisk) writes down a random letter A, B, C, D or E (asterisk). You know what all of this means, though?

MORE TIME FOR FAAAAAANNNNFIIICCC!

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Seven_

It was hard to look at him with all the tubes they'd prodded into him. I leaned against the door, wondering why I hadn't said something to anyone earlier. Of course, it was sort of JD's fault, wasn't it? Pretending he was alright like that. But still…I wish that I knew what was wrong with him. It was eating me up inside.

I heard Dr. Cox approaching—his walk is rather distinctive, especially if he's mad—and stiffened. I knew that just because we'd shared a moment outside in the stairwell, he wasn't going to be any nicer.

"Do they have any idea…?"

"What do you think, Barbie?" he asked me callously.

I bit my lip, nodding my head. Of course nothing would change. I was right after all.

"You know, Carla's looking for you," I informed him without any emotion in my voice, staring in at JD through the glass. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go into his room or not. He wasn't even awake.

_You're an idiot_, I'd told him before he'd headed for the stairs and collapsed. Tears flooded my eyes and I didn't understand why. Usually I managed to be somewhat emotionally unconnected to my patients; heck, I was a moron when it came to understanding emotions as it was. It shouldn't make me so upset that someone was sick…granted, though, it wasn't just "someone." It was JD.

I thought of the bitter break-up we'd gone through a couple of months ago, how I'd only just gotten around to forgiving him. It took me a long time to accept his friendship again, but the truth was, I missed him too much to be angry for long. Now I was grateful that we were friends again. I wouldn't want him to be in this state and not think that I cared about him.

He did know I cared about him, right?

"I know," Dr. Cox replied, his hands in his pocket and his back straight, staring at JD with me. "Tell her I'm busy."

I scoffed. "Your shift ended twenty minutes ago," I reminded him.

"So did yours, genius," he retorted. "What, you think that just because Mattel gave you your very own serial number that you're better than everyone else in this hospital? Well, let me tell you, Doctor Barbie, you're far from it, because the rest of us—even my wife, and sometimes I wonder if she's even human—are recognized by the government."

I opened my mouth to say something back, but hesitated. This was usually the point of conversation that JD would but in and say something along the lines of, "Yeah, well, Barbies don't pay taxes," and Dr. Cox would say back with that signature sarcastic scowl, "Oh, that explains the constant girliness, Miranda. Evading the government. Are you sure, though, that that's the only reason why you converted to the Mattel faith? Because I hear the shoes in LaLaLand and fa-habulous this season." Then JD would walk away with me, pretending we'd managed to scrape up a shred of dignity between the two of us…

"I can't," I muttered.

Dr. Cox must have noticed it too, but he didn't say anything. "If you want to know the truth, for some damned reason I feel compelled to help with Carolina's diagnosis. I might, uh…"

He looked uncomfortable, so I helped him out. I didn't know why. I mean, when has he ever helped me out? But it was for JD.

"I'll help," I offered before he had to ask.

He winced. "If you must," he said, trying to keep his pride. "Let's go."

"One second," I bid him. I knew he'd wait. He didn't have much of a choice.

I entered JD's room hesitantly, shutting the door behind me. The sound of the door stirred him awake; at least, his eyes opened. For a moment he looked slightly panicked, but I tried my best to smile at him reassuringly.

He grinned back, his eyes laughing at me. I was obviously doing a bad job with the "reassurance" thing. But JD was still clearly frightened, opening his mouth to ask me what was happening, then closing it again like a fish out of water.

"Hey," I greeted him. "Don't worry, you haven't missed the Friends marathon, it's not till noon," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

JD closed his eyes, still smiling to let me know he was listening. I could see him struggling to keep his eyes open; he slumped into the pillow limply.

"We, uh, don't know what's wrong with you," I said numbly. "Yeah, I know, Captain Obvious. We're working on it, though. I guess I know most of your symptoms since…" I trailed off. "Hey, I'm really sorry about calling you an idiot. I probably would have acted the same way," I lied. No, I would never be quite as pigheaded and determined as JD and Dr. Cox were. But it was an attempt at an apology, no matter how half-assed it was.

He took a deep, strained-looking breath. "Don't be…sorry," he whispered so quietly I could barely hear him.

"I talked to Carla," I said offhandedly. "She, uh, wants to get in touch with your mom or your brother."

JD frowned. "Why," he muttered, his voice too far gone to even raise the tone of the word and ask it as a question.

I shrugged, then realized his eyes were still closed. "You know Carla. Prodding into everything. I guess she just thought that maybe you wanted…"

"Sure," he said, shuddering a bit. I noticed that he was shaking every time he tried to speak. I didn't say anything. Even if he wouldn't admit it, this was humiliating to JD, who usually shrugged off everything embarrassing or emotional with a stupid joke or some klutzy act of randomness. Now he couldn't even talk. He'd been robbed of his one defense—humor.

And then I realized that it was sort of like a mask, his humor. His nature in general. He was like me—screwing up emotions all the time and then trying to pathetically compensate. My heart went out to him. I knew how it felt to be embarrassed because, after all, I was Elliot Reid.

I smiled wistfully. Maybe we would have been a good couple if we'd stuck it out. But I supposed we'd never know.

"I'll tell her, then." I cleared my throat. "Listen, I gotta go, but Carla and Turk might come in and see you," I told him. "I'll be back when I can be. Get some rest."

JD bit his lip, so I knew he was still hearing me, even if his eyes stayed closed. He looked like a zombie, pale and tensed. I sighed. Poor guy.

"Okay, let's get down to business," I said to Dr. Cox as soon as I'd told Carla to go ahead and contact JD's family. "My first guess would be to make up a list of symptoms and start hitting the books."

"Gee, Barbie, I was going to say the same thing except I didn't go through eight years of medical school and countless years in this dump doing the exact same thing to every undiagnosed patient. Thanks!"

I rolled my eyes. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

I bit my nail. I hadn't bitten any nails since the eighth grade, when my friends held an intervention! What was I suddenly biting them now??

I glanced towards Bambi's room and sighed. I knew perfectly well why. And I was going to visit him in a moment, just as soon as I called his family up. They deserved to know what was going on.

I decided to call Dan first. I braced myself as the phone rang; it's never easy to tell someone that their loved one is sick, especially when nobody knows exactly what it is yet. But nobody answered. Typical of Dan, I thought, putting the phone down. Then I grabbed the emergency care form of JD's that all the staff were required to submit when they were first hired, checking his contacts.

His mom wasn't on the emergency contacts. Huh. I looked further into the card, and a family number was listed. It must be his mother's, because his dad was listed as an emergency contact earlier in the page.

I dialed the number. "Hello?" a woman's voice asked.

"Hi…" I greeted her, my mouth feeling dry. "Um, could I please speak with Mrs. Dorian?"

"Excuse me?"

"I, uh…"

"This is Mrs. Andrews," the woman informed me.

"Oh, I apologize," I hastened to say, ready to hang up.

"Formerly Mrs. Dorian," she clarified.

I drew my hand away from clicking the phone off. "Oh." I paused for a moment. "Are you JD's mother?"

"JD? You mean Johnny?"

I stifled a snort. "Yeah, JD," I repeated.

"I am," she said stiffly, her voice a bit more shrill.

"He's in the hospital," I said as gently as I could.

"Well, he's a doctor, isn't he?" she said airily.

I shook my head. "No, I mean he's sick," I cleared up for her. "He's been admitted. He collapsed a little while ago and we're not quite sure what it is that he has. I thought you might want to know…"

"You people are doctors, right? Shouldn't you know what's wrong with him?" she asked petulantly.

"Well…" I was growing impatient with her. "He hasn't regained consciousness yet, so the doctors haven't been able to question him."

She sighed huffily. I heard a baby crying in the background. "Great. He's awake. Look, lady, is it life threatening?"

Something in me snapped when she addressed me as "lady." I took a deep breath, willing myself not to snap at her for her ignorance. It was as if she didn't care about poor Bambi at all!

"It could be," I said sassily.

She sighed again, and the crying baby grew louder. Why was there a baby in JD's mom's house? Did he have another brother? Maybe she remarried…did Bambi even know?

"Look, I just can't make it right now. He's a closed chapter. I don't think he'd even appreciate it if I did come, so don't bother calling here again. Good-bye."

I opened my mouth to yap at her some more, give her a piece of my mind—no one talked about my friends like they were a bit of garbage—but she had already hung up. I listened to the dial tone furiously, wishing I'd never made the call.

What was I going to tell JD?

* * *

There's my update, folks. I decided to throw in another JD angster with the mom thing, lol. I love how I'm just blatantly admitting it now. Screw subtlety. It's people like me who get confused by that sorta fancy-pansy stuff anyway. I AM JD ANGSTING. (JDAing for short, lol. we should totally make that a nerdy fanficking phrase...JDAing...WHO'S WITH ME?? ASTERISKS AND JDAing!!) So, yeah, I'm giving you the double whammy of JDA here by adding that. It was a spur of the moment thing. And I promise you peoples, we will come closer to diagnosing the mystery disease...first one to guess the disease recieves mucho recognition in this fanfic and an invisible toy car!


	8. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Eight_

"Myasthenia gravis?"

"Yeah, if he's, like, fifty."

"Someone's got to get some of his blood tested. It could be Lyme Disease."

"Gee, Barbie, test his blood? That took a lot of thought, didn't it? Sometimes I wonder why you didn't become a doctor…oh, wait a second, you are one. Go figure."

"I still think we ought to give him a Tensilon test for myasthenia. It never hurts to be careful."

I rolled my eyes, picking up one of the crumpled papers we were listing things on. "Let me add that to the grocery list…hm, strawberries…a CT scan…spinal tap…oh, and a Tensilon test!"

She was already pouring through the medical book, ignoring me. "Says here that drugs could affect muscles…"

I snorted. "Wanna go ask Newbie if he snorts cocaine?"

"HIV…" Barbie muttered under her breath, looking at the list. She made a little gasp. "You don't think—"

"No, you're the only one he's slept with in five years," I reminded her, wrenching the book from her grasp as she turned bright red in the face. "This is a load of crap. We can't get anywhere until Richards gets the damn tests done." I read the list. It was about a page long—I sighed exasperatedly. "There's a lot we can rule out…some of this stuff is way out there. But I say we start with a Tensilon test, because a CT scan and spinal tap were probably already done."

"But that's what I just said—"

"Ya da ya da ya da," I mocked me, getting up from the table. "If you keep talking, Barbie, then Janie might just be able to diagnosis himself before we get any work done!"

"What about Guillain-Barre syndrome?" she continued to search, looking in the pages of another medical journal. "I mean, it's rare and everything…"

"Unless Newbie's recently gotten a viral infection, surgery, or vaccine, I'd cross that wild idea out of your blonde head," I said impatiently, grabbing the other book from her. "Now let's get a move on and check with Dr. Richards, I want to see that kid Jordan gave birth to sometime before the end of the day, if that's all right by you."

Barbie froze. "He got a flu shot last week."

I closed my eyes, sighing. "You've got to be kidding me." I was starting to get a headache thinking of all the things that could be wrong with him. It was times like this that made it suck to be a doctor—part of me wanted to block out all of the horrible things that it could be and ignore it like any other hopeful idiot who knew someone in this hellhole, while the other part of me demanded that I figure it out what was wrong with Newbie as fast as possible, faster than Dr. Richards if I could.

"I'll go tell Dr. Richards," Barbie said quickly, seizing the opportunity to leave the room. I almost shouted with relief. Yes, Barbie was smart and sometimes even helpful, but God, did I want to strangle her! One more second with that mascara-clad freak, one more time of her blowing that one little strand of hair out of her face…I was gonna crack. Get a god damn barrette, woman!

But I wouldn't kill her. For Newbie's sake and that reason alone.

* * *

"Hey, buddy," I said uncomfortably. Maybe it was the fact that he was hooked up to machines, or maybe it was the oxygen mask attached to his face—I didn't know what, but I felt really uncomfortable being in the room with him.

JD didn't answer. I had the feeling he was asleep, but he shakily lifted up his hand and waved. I cringed. How could I have not realized it this morning? JD barely made it out the door. He was so bad that he had to take the elevator, and he never ever took the elevator. Shouldn't that have been a major clue? That or the fact that he couldn't even hold his coffee without spilling it all over? I was supposed to be his best friend.

Come to think of it, he'd been acting strange for the past few days, too. Zoning out all the time. Well, it _was _JD we were talking about here, the Captain of Zone Outs, but he wasn't acting like he normally did when he was daydreaming. He looked…pained. Like he was trying to focus on something that wasn't there, his eyes wandering absently. Now I realized that it was because his eyes kept blurring over; Elliot explained earlier today.

Why didn't he tell me, though? I thought we were tyte, like brothers. I could only guess that he was ignoring it himself. He went to work, after all.

"How you feeling?"

I wished I could have come up with something—_anything_—better than that to say to him, but nothing was coming to mind. I was mentally kicking myself, trying to think of something useful to say, something that would lessen the tension that was suffocating the room.

"Hey, baby, how'd you get out of your leash? I thought we were gonna visit JD together," Carla burst in. I could tell she had been crying earlier, or at least close to it, but her face was set in a supportive smile now. That was what I admired most about Carla. She was always brave about the tough stuff.

"Hey, Bambi, I called up your folks," Carla told him. "Dan didn't pick up. I'll call him back later, okay?"

JD frowned. "My…mom?" he wheezed.

Carla looked down at the floor, a guilty expression on her face. "She…she was really busy. I guess she's married again, right?"

His frown deepened. "What?" His voice was barely a croak. I swallowed hard.

"What?" I repeated stupidly. "JD's mom remarried _again_?"

Carla's eyes widened. "Well, I don't know. I mean, I thought…she said she was 'Mrs. Andrews,' and there was a baby crying in the background. I really don't know."

"She hasn't called in two years or so," I said, holding up JD's end of the conversation so he wouldn't need to. "Wow. Mrs. Andrews."

JD's frowned deepened. "A baby," he reminded Carla, indicating for her to explain.

"Yeah. A baby. It was a boy, I think."

JD's eyes cracked open a bit, struggling to stay that way. He looked pretty upset, and Carla looked even guiltier than before, twiddling with her fingers. Great. Two seconds ago I'd been grateful for her breaking the tension, and now she'd quadrupled the awkwardness. I gave her a "look." Her eyes widened in panic, trying to figure out what to say next.

"Hey, but don't stress about it," she attempted at fixing the situation. She cleared her throat. "So…the whole hospital's been talking about you, Bambi. You're quite the item for gossip. You just made Lavern's day," she joked.

JD smiled vaguely, but I could tell he was still troubled about his mom. "Great," he rasped, taking a deep breath.

"We missed you at pizza day," I said lightly, trying to add in my bit. Then I immediately felt guilty. What was it, a chore to talk to my best friend? I wanted to slap myself. "That nurse you liked spilled punch all over her shirt. You could see right through to her bra!"

Carla smacked me. "What was that, Christopher?" she demanded.

JD tried to laugh; it didn't work. My shoulders slumped a bit. Then my pager beeped. Of course. Of all the times in the day, why not now?

But sadly enough, I was almost relieved it had gone off. Anything to escape the room.

"Hey, buddy, I'll come see you later, alright?" I said, running out the door. "Gilmore Girls tonight!"

"Why did I marry him…?" I heard Carla muse as I ran out.

* * *

My mind was swarming. Mom remarried again? What was it, the ninth time? But a _baby_? Did that mean that I had a half-sibling out there somewhere?

It grew harder to breathe under the stress. I wished Carla would just leave. I felt like I was going to cry—it was awful just lying here. I could barely move. Like, literally, I couldn't move a muscle below my neck. My eyelids were heavy, and sometimes when I managed to open them, the world around me spun again.

"Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah," I assured her, my voice coming out as a straggled squeak, betraying me. Now she'd know I was upset. It was Carla, after all. I hoped she'd just ignore it.

"Look, I know that it's scary," Carla said in a conspiratorial tone, coming closer to me. I felt her hand on my shoulder. I felt relief in knowing that I could still feel, even if I could hardly move. Though I already knew I could feel from the ache from falling down those stairs.

"But you're going to be fine. Dr. Cox and Elliot are trying to figure out what's wrong with you, and you know that if those two are working together, something's definitely going to come through. You'll be fine."

I wished I could believe her. She knew as well as I did that she couldn't make any promises when it came to medicine. And her words didn't help at all with my predicament—I was stuck, I was humiliated, and above all, I was desperate. Desperate to get out of this hospital and ride my scooter, or run around the block, or swig down a couple of appletinis, just so I could feel my muscles working again. I longed for everything to be normal again.

But she was trying to make me feel better, and I supposed it worked a little bit. I calmed down a little bit.

I couldn't help but wonder, though, if Dr. Cox was going to come and talk to me. I almost didn't want him to because I was so ashamedly weak. I didn't want him to think of me that way, now or ever again. But he'd already been the person to find me, so there really wasn't anything to lose—my pride being the only thing I had to my name, in this case—since he'd already seen me at my worst. Besides, he was the closest thing to a father I had, as hard as it was to admit it.

"Just try and get some rest," Carla instructed me, leaving the room. I flinched as the door clacked shut, then rested my head back and fell asleep.

* * *

Okay, I did a LOT of evil research for this chapter, and I only ended up using about a quarter of it, lol. I'm so disappointed that all that research went to waste, but hey, I know lots 'bout some random muscle weakening diseases. Might come in handy if I ever land myself on a Lord of the Flies or Lost-esque island with an old person who has such random symptoms. Ooo, excitement. Lol, with my luck I'd be the first to die as the plane went down, probably from a rare vocal snappage disease (caused by overdramatic portrayal of Dora the Explorer...my hero!), so I wouldn't have to worry. So review, peoples, because I actually worked hard at this chappie. Ewww. You made me LEARN, you losers. Lol. I'm actually in Disease Detectives in Science Olympiad...so TECHNICALLY I'm doing research for that (asterisk) COUGH COUGH (asterisk). Don't tell anyone. And review plz :D


	9. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Nine_

"Have the test results come back yet?" I hounded Dr. Richards, catching him just before he entered Newbie's room.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, sighing. "Yes, they have."

I waited for a moment for him to speak. Okay, maybe less than a moment, but I was growing impatient, which is perfectly understandable under the circumstances. A day had passed since Barbie and I had found Newbie in the stairwell, and nobody had been able to figure out what was wrong with him. Now, with eight hours of sleep under my belt, I was just about ready to pounce on anyone who might have an inkling of an idea what was going on.

"So?" I pressed him in a few milliseconds.

"We still don't know."

"Well, what have we ruled out?"

"Any form of asthenia and Guillan-Barre syndrome and Lyme disease. It's not any kind of cancer, as far as we can tell."

I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or strangle him.

"It's nothing that we can see immediately. We're ruling out all of the common illnesses that would have caused this. We're sending in another sample of his blood to the State Health Department for more testing."

I swallowed hard. It wasn't very often that a patient in this hospital had to be tested in the State Health Department. "What are they…what are they checking for?" I asked tentatively, not sure if I wanted to know.

Dr. Richards looked me in the eye. "Honestly? I'm not sure. Someone mentioned botulism during the meeting, but something makes me doubt it. It's pretty rare that someone would contract botulism, there aren't very many cases every year."

I looked over into Newbie's room and immediately looked away, trying to focus on the problem at hand. "So you have questioned him," I affirmed.

"Yes, we have. It took a little while," Dr. Richards admitted. "He's almost completely lost his voice, and even the Tensilon we injected in him didn't spark any nerves in his muscles. It's going to get worse before it gets better, I think."

You _think_? I wanted to yell. Why didn't he know?

And then I realized that I was acting just like the people who come into the hospital and demand to know what's wrong with their relative/friend/prostitute (thank you, Bobbo, for scarring the new interns for life last week). I was frustrated. I was angry. I was no better than the rest of them, and how could I call myself the kid's friend? All I did was yell at him whenever I was given the opportunity. Hell, I almost wished he'd get better solely so I could rant at him about the hell he was putting us through. I caught Barbie crying in the supply closet today, and she hadn't done that since her first year of residency. Carla organized the same patient charts six times, alphabetizing them in different ways every time. Ghandi hardly spoke and wouldn't high five that sex-driven maniac surgeon, whoever the hell he is.

As for me? I wasn't sure how I was dealing with it.

"I think you should go see him, Perry. He probably would talk to you more than he'd talk to me."

I glared at him, furious—he'd pegged me. He'd found my weakness. _That _was what I was doing, exactly what I was doing. Avoiding him. Finding reasons why I couldn't drop in. Using half-assed, crappy excuses to run away for the past day, trying to delay the fact that eventually I'd have to see him and face the reality of JD, that annoying intern who bounced all over the place far too often for a soon-to-be-thirty-year-old man (I only knew this because some god forsaken invitation to a fiesta was sent to my apartment last week) as a patient, sick and helpless.

I was pathetic. I was afraid.

I hated myself for it.

"Shove it," I muttered, pushing past him. He was only a doctor, too. He didn't know anything.

* * *

I kept having dreams. In some of them my dad was still alive; I thought that maybe it was because of what Carla had told me. I mean, it wasn't weird at all that my mom was married again. It happened all the time. I grew up with, like, five different stepdads. I just called them all "dude" and dealt with their crap.

Then there were other dreams. I was underwater and I couldn't breathe. Then I'd wake up, take a deep breath—an "assisted" breath, embarrassingly enough—and the dream would be over. Other times I'd dream about going out and eating ice cream, or talking to someone, sometimes even the Janitor. I was practically starved for social interaction at this point.

Dr. Richards walked into the room. I could tell it was him without bothering to open my eyes because he had this funny wheeze about him, and his shoes were noisy. I would have laughed—I was like that Daredevil guy in the movies, who couldn't see so he used his super hearing to save the world from bad guys. At least, I think that was how it went. I was in med school at the time, and sometimes when Turk and I were under the stress of finals we'd give in to eerily realistic hallucinations…

"So, JD," Dr. Richards said somewhat uncomfortably, not used to calling a patient by their first name. I'd told him to—after hearing Dr. Cox make a mockery of me over and over again, it sounded weird to have any member of the staff call me "Dr. Dorian" with a straight face. "The good news is, all of the conditions we talked about were ruled out in the testing."

I shuddered. The testing. First, they brought me in for a CT scan, which wasn't half bad compared to the rest of it. Then they gave me a spinal tap. Honestly, I'd heard some complaints about spinal taps before, but it just sucked. Not to mention that it look about five years to get up so I could do the test.

Oh, and my absolute nightmare? The tensilon test. And of course it would be Elliot administering it—I think she might still have some underlying anger about the break-up or something, because not only were her hands cold this time, but she was banging my joints as if she had a mallet! First she injected me with the slimy drug (I checked to make sure it wasn't something terribly deadly, given the circumstances) Tensilon. I knew from med school that if it was myasthenia, my legs and arms would jerk awake for a few minutes. I was actually looking forward to it, but it wasn't happening. So Elliot kept on hitting stuff (and that hasn't happened since I last slept with her, so you can imagine the awkwardness) even when it was absolutely clear that I was myasthenia-free.

I couldn't believe, though, that after all that, nobody had figured out what was wrong with me. I bet I could be of some help, if I could use my freaking arms, but nobody was willing to lend me a medical journal or textbook or anything, even a comic. I was bored out of my mind, and nobody had visited me in the past twelve hours except for some oldish nurse I didn't even know. Where in the freaking hell are all the hot nurses??

"The bad news is, we still don't know what's wrong."

I wanted to throttle him. Thanks for telling me what I already know! Then I immediately wanted to laugh at myself for acting just like Dr. Cox.

Dr. Richards cleared his throat. "Uh, so we've sent a sample of blood to the State Health Department."

I nodded to let him know I'd heard him. But the State Health Department? What the hell could they do that our labs at Sacred Heart couldn't already? What exactly were they looking for, anthrax? I couldn't help but feel a little nervous about the whole situation.

"What…are they looking for?" I forced myself to ask. God, my throat was dry. Like those immortal dudes in Pirates of the Carribean who were always thirsty—and there I went with another movie reference. I needed to get out of here before I cracked.

"We're not sure. A couple of different conditions, I suppose." He left it vague like that. I knew he wasn't telling me the whole truth, but I wasn't about to harass him. First of all, I could hardly speak. I was a bit angry at him for taking obvious advantage of that. Second of all, though, I knew that his job was tough enough without annoying patients (like I currently was), so I let him cop out.

"Dr. Cox is helping," he said with a slight irony in his voice. I could tell, though, that he was making a sad attempt at assurance (haha, assurance had the word "ass" in it…GOD I needed out of here…) by telling me that.

I mean, it wasn't like I expected Dr. Cox to come visit me, but still…even though it meant a lot that he was helping, it was almost like he was avoiding me. Though he had to be busy with his own life. I couldn't hope for him to come when he clearly had a lot going on, not to mention his family outside of the hospital. I had to remind myself that even if I thought of him as a mentor, that feeling wasn't exactly mutual. I was just the Newbie he worked with. That was the realistic part that I had to face.

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Well, get some rest."

I cringed. Why couldn't anyone just say "good-bye" or "see ya later"? It was always "Get some rest," and then they'd leave. What was that? It was driving me nuts. Did I ever do that to my patients? I hoped not.

* * *

So? Anyone guessing what the illness is? I haven't gotten a correct one yet...MWAHAHA...Sorry, MeghanthePagan, you tried. Good guesses, though. Anywho. I've got some evilness in mind for the next few chappies as far as piling on the JDA goes. I'm fairly certain that it's going to lead to a prequel about JD's high school years once I'm finished, and by the next chapter you'll know what the conflict is gonna be. And if you don't figure it out in the next chapter...well, Zeus be with you, lol, cuz you're dense...Well, that's not anyone's concern till the next chappie, so read away!

And please review cuz it makes me happy when I suffer of SWB (Severe Writer's Block). Wow I'm a PRO at acronyms!!


	10. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Ten _

"Hey, Dan. It's Elliot. JD's friend."

I watched my perky blonde friend on the phone, glad that she had taken over phone duty for now. After calling JD's mom and getting her reaction, I wasn't sure if I could handle calling someone else without screaming into the speaker until their ears bled. And something told me that Dan would just be asking for it.

Elliot's face scrunched up. "No, Dan, I'm not looking for a booty call. Yes, I know you're busy…with the bar. Uh-huh."

I felt my fists clench. "Gimme the phone," I demanded, ready to go to bat.

Elliot put a finger up, signaling for me to wait. "Hey, I've got something to tell you—" He was talking on the other end, cutting her off. "No, Dan, not that!" she said, exasperated. "Could you just--?" She sighed exasperatedly, finally handing me the phone.

"Dan, it's Carla."

"You TOO? What is it with the women in my brother's life?"

"I'm married, you pervert," I reminded him.

He scoffed. "Sure."

"Okay…" I said, a little weirded out. Were JD and Dan even related? "Actually, Dan, it's about your brother."

"He's right here."

I frowned. "What?"

"He's right…oh, that's right. I guess I didn't mention Caleb. Um, surprise! My mom got a baby last month."

"What?" I gasped. I knew it was a possibility, but wasn't JD's mom a bit old? "I thought…"

"Yeah, well, he's loud and he poops a lot, but she adopted him with 'Mr. Andrews'," he said, a clearly mocking tone in his voice when he mentioned the other man's name. "I got kicked outta the attic, but the kid's nice, I guess. Chicks dig babies."

"Why didn't anyone tell JD? The baby is his brother, too."

"Huh." Dan considered this. "Guess I was just too busy, didn't think about it. Could you put him on the line, Carly?"

"Carla," I corrected indignantly, "and no, I can't put him on the line, he's in the ICU."

"Oh. Well, tell him to call me when he's finished."

"No, I mean he's a patient in the ICU. He can't talk. He can't even get up because whatever it is he has is attacking the nerves that work his muscles. He's really sick, Dan. We already reached your mom and she doesn't want to see him." I bit my lip. I promised myself I wouldn't pry about it, ask Dan why his mom thought of JD as a "closed chapter." I took a deep breath. "I think you should come visit."

There was silence on the other end. "Mom doesn't want to see him?" he asked. "Wow, I didn't think it had gotten that bad."

"What do you mean?" I asked, kicking myself for breaking my promise. But I really had to know. For Bambi's sake.

"Oh…nothing. Just tell Johnny I'm coming, alright?"

"Thank you," I said, relieved. "I'm sure it means a lot to him."

"Hey," he asked before he hung up, "is it…like, serious?"

I closed my eyes. It was weird that Dan, stereotypical party guy, high school drop-out was actually concerned for once. "I think it is. Nobody can figure out what's wrong with him yet."

Dan blew out an even breath. "Alright. I'll be there."

I heard the dialtone.

"So?" Elliot prompted me.

I smiled sadly. "He's coming," I reported.

Elliot smiled back. "Well, Dan's coming. Maybe his mom is just…too freaked out or something."

I shook my head. "No. There's a specific reason, and Dan knows it, too. He wouldn't tell me, but I have a feeling it's personal."

"Get to work," Dr. Cox ordered, walking in on us.

"Dan's coming—" Elliot started.

"I said, get to work," he repeated again, angrier this time. Elliot scurried off in a huff, patient charts in hand. Dr. Cox leaned on the counter of the nurses station, putting his head in his hands.

"We're all having trouble dealing with it," I snapped, suddenly mad at him, "but the rest of us aren't hiding from JD."

He looked up at me, his eyes red. "I will go in there," he said fiercely. "Just not right now. Not today."

"But tomorrow could be…" Panic seized me. I couldn't believe what I'd been implying. Neither could Dr. Cox.

"Shut up," he growled, heading in the opposite direction of Elliot.

I sighed, staring at the phone. I hoped Dan was hurrying. JD was really gonna need him at this rate.

* * *

I hung the phone up, feeling a bit numb. It seemed like only yesterday I was camping out in Johnny's bathtub, sleeping with his friends. I didn't know if I would be able to go see him if he couldn't move. I might just feel guilty for torturing him as a kid or something, a repercussion that I wouldn't want to experience.

The sad truth was, I was trying to get past this whole thing with JD. And by "thing," I meant our childhood. Or something. I remembered all the different boyfriends our mom had, all the marriages. I was a brat, trying to get attention. I tortured Johnny as a kid, and yet he always tagged along, trying to be with me. Even when Mom noticed and told me to quit it, which was rare, I'd keep doing it, inspired by the fact that she was paying attention for once.

I wanted to forget all of that. I would never change, I knew, but with Caleb at least I would have a fresh start. I'd always be Dan the Bartender, but I wouldn't bug new baby as I had bugged my younger brother.

I knew that I could just go and apologize to Johnny, act mature for once, and he would forgive me in an instant. That was the kind of person he was. And honestly, at this point, that was all I really wanted—but how could I ask for forgiveness after all these years? We were the Dorian kids, after all. Making everything complicated, ignoring problems until they blew up in our faces. Some things just weren't meant to change.

I felt like I should make a cake or something, but I knew that it would only be an omen. Cake always led to death. So I'd make cookies. For some reason we were always making sweets when we were upset, mostly because when Johnny and I were little, Mom would only pretend to be happy if we cleaned the house and made dessert.

I checked the train schedule and resolved to catch the three o'clock. That left me three hours to make cookies, pack some underwear into a bag and go. I started pulling ingredients out of the wall and mixing them together.

"Whatcha making?" asked Fin, Mom's new husband. He wasn't really all that bad. Of course, that wouldn't stop me from saying his name with an eye roll to other people when he wasn't around. Mom had had nice husbands before, some of which I actually got along with, but it always ended when it all came down to it. Poor Caleb. I wondered what was going to happen to him when the "Andrews" were finished.

"Cookies," I answered. "Chocolate chip." I stayed on civil terms with him on the off chance that he'd let me back into the attic. I was sleeping in Caleb's room now, because Fin said that if I was living in the house, I might as well help with the baby. And yes, I complained a lot, but I was sort of growing attached to the kid now.

I stuck the dough in the oven.

"Wait," my mom said, walking in and smelling the dough. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Fin frowned. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "Pastime," I explained. "And besides, Mom, you already know, according to Carla."

"Who the hell is Carla?" asked my mom.

I rolled my eyes. "One of Johnny's friends, works at the hospital with him," I said. "Not that you'd know."

"Oh. John. Yeah, I got a call."

I bit my lip. She infuriated me. So I decided to lie and get a reaction. "He's dying," I told her, and even as I said it aloud, I wondered if it was true. They didn't know what he had. Maybe he really was dying. I swallowed hard. "I'm catching the train at three. I want to see my brother," I informed her solidly, looking her straight in the eye.

It hit home. I saw her eyes widen and start to tear up. "Dying?" she whispered.

I nodded, wondering if this lie would come to bite me in the butt later. "Yes."

"Go on," urged Fin. "Go with Dan. He's your son, you have to see him."

"You don't understand," my mom said piteously. "We…we had a riff a couple of years back…"

"Ten years," I reminded her, watching the oven absent-mindedly.

"Look," said Fin gently, "I'm not going to press you about whatever it is you had a 'riff' over, but John is your son. You at least owe him a visit. He needs you right now more than Caleb and I do—besides, I have the week off from work. I can handle him."

"Well…"

I suddenly wasn't so sure if Johnny would even want to see her. She'd been cruel to him before he'd left for college, calling him a worthless little liar, accusing him of ruining her chance with any good man. Of course, she hadn't seen it happening. Two of her boyfriends, two of them in a row, would beat the crap out of Johnny whenever they got drunk. I had moved out of the house and was sleeping on the upper floor of my friend's bar at that point, so he got all the heat. Once he'd landed himself in the hospital three times between the two of them, he told his school what was going on, and the two boyfriends and my mom got into legal trouble. Anyway, Johnny went to live with my dad for his senior year of high school, and visited my mom before he left for college…let's just say the visit wasn't that pretty.

"You'll hate yourself if you let him die thinking you hate him," I hissed in a random act of seriousness. I was scaring myself with reality. I'd been angry with her under the surface for years, and now I was letting her know. "Over something so stupid," I added.

She hiccupped in shock at the venom in my words. "Alright. I'm coming."

Watch out, Johnny, I thought to myself. Here we come.

* * *

So...yeah! Btw, nine's my lucky number! I meant to say that LAST chapter, but with the whole blonde thing--well, anyway, just thought I'd add that tidbit. Otherwise I have nothing to say. Nothing to complain about. Huh...this is _odd..._OH WAIT. Yes, I do have something to bitch about!! I got HIT IN THE HEAD so hard! And I didn't run into a door this time! Some kid (alright...some really HOT junior...) was pretending to punch his friend. His arm swung around REALLY FAST and his elbow collided with the side of my head. MY POOR BRAIN...lol...time to write fanfic :D REVIEW. I LOVE PEOPLE WHO REVIEW. In a friendly way!!


	11. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Eleven_

"Dan's coming…"

I heard Elliot's voice, but I couldn't stay awake any longer. I'd been up for hours and hours, randomly sleeping for ten minutes or so before being jerked awake from dreaming. I kept on hoping there would be more news on what was happening to me, but it was evident that it was going to be at least a day or so, so I let myself drift into sleep.

"_Shut UP, you awful son of a bitch." _

"_But I didn't say…" _

_WHAM! My face stung. I knew better than to put my hand to it; the last time I did that, I ended up with three busted up fingers. Instead I stood there, backed up against the wall, as silently as possible. I could feel the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I checked to see if all of my teeth were in tact; fortunately, they were all accounted for this time. _

"_Think you're so great, huh? Nerdy kid who lives with his mom…" _

_I was sixteen! Of course I lived with my mom! _

"_It's near impossible to ever be with her with you constantly in the apartment!" he yelled, knocking me into the dresser with surprising strength for a drunk man. I knew my mother had to be hearing this, but she'd ignore it, just like she had with the last boyfriend. _

"_Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" _

_I could hear my breathing, strained and afraid. I held my breath to try and stop the noise, but it was too late. I'd pushed his last buttons. _

"_WELL?" He shoved me down and kicked me into the table. The temple of my head smacked the corner of the table as I fell, and I knew I heard something crack before…_

* * *

"JD?" I asked him. I could tell he was sleeping because he wasn't smiling or trying to nod in acknowledgement anymore. I knew he hadn't slept very much. I wouldn't either, stuck in a place like this.

I left the room, wondering if he'd heard me saying Dan was coming. Probably not, or he would have stayed awake.

I sat down in a chair next to his bed and sighed. "So," I said aimlessly, wondering what I was going to do now. I had planned to spend at least a half hour with him and I fully intended to do just that. "I renewed my driver's license the other day. You oughta see the picture—it looks kind of like you that time you ran Sasha into a bee's nest." I paused, but I didn't laugh. "Sasha misses you. No one's riding her anymore. At least, that's what Turk said…I don't know if scooters can actually miss people."

I bit at one of my fingernails. "I guess you heard about the State Health Department thing. Dr. Cox was pretty freaked…I guess I was, too. I thought it would be easy, figuring out what you had. Things are generally easy with you, JD. I suppose I was used to that.

"But you know what? We're going to get past this. You'll be fine by next week, laughing at your own lame jokes. Funny, I'd kill for one of those right now," I said weakly, actually wishing for one. JD's awkwardness made me forget my own. I missed regular JD.

"Well…" I trailed off. I finally just decided to get up and leave. "I'm sure your brother will be here later tonight, so I'll see you around." I was about to leave when I heard the long, solitary ring of the heart monitor. In the two seconds I stood dumbfounded my pager also went off.

"Oh my God…"

He was going into arrest.

* * *

"Wanna talk about it?" asked Carla, inviting herself to sit down next to me without permission.

"I'm sure the wild sex you and Gandhi manage to have biannually is pu-hositively wonderful, Carla, and even though I know that you've tried to propose 'experimentation' with me and Jordan, something tells me that neither pair is quite ready for it. Unless, of course, by 'experimentation' you mean tying Gandhi and Jordan to chairs and taking turns beating them over the head with mallets—by all means, I'm in." I took a deep breath. "Let's get to it."

Carla folded her hands in her lap. "Finished?"

I cocked my head in thought. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, then," Carla began, and I felt myself starting to sigh. I didn't want to "talk about it," but that was Carla for you. "I think you owe it to Bambi to go visit him."

"Excuse me? Bambi?" I asked, pretending to be oblivious. "This isn't a veterinarian's office."

"JD," she clarified.

I cleared my throat. "Again? JD?"

She slapped me. "You can't call him 'Newbie' forever, you know. He's been here for more than three years."

And how much longer? I wondered.

"Then I'll continue addressing her with whatever girl's name pops into my mind," I resolved. "Besides, he'll always be Newbie. He's too much of a sissy to be anything else," I said, almost affectionately. Okay, so I'd grown used to Newbie. I'd established that fact. Now I was working on reversing three years worth of actually letting myself connect on some level with another human being, all within the past twenty-four hours.

"I know you're scared—"

"I'm not," I interrupted.

"—but you have to listen to me—"

"Yaaaaaaaaaaaawwn."

"—or JD's going to lie there and wonder why the hell you're being a bastard and not visiting him!" Carla's voice finally rose into an indignant yell as a result of my interjections. "It's not fair to _him_, Perry. He's always come through for you."

I rolled my eyes, trying to block her words out before I had a chance to consider them.

"I know what you're doing."

"You watch the Sopranos, too?"

"You're trying to shut me out," she continued as if she hadn't heard my comment. "You don't want to face it. I know the feeling. But if you keep acting like this, you'll only be digging yourself into a deeper grave."

"What'd you do, rehearse this?" I asked sarcastically.

"There you go again," she pointed out. "Trying to avoid it. You keep thinking if you deflect it, I'll go away. But I know you. You're not going to get away with the bastard-act with me. Or I'll sic Jordan on you, and I'm not even kidding this time." Her tone was dead serious, so I knew she didn't mean it as a joke.

After a moment, Carla said, "He needs you."

I scoffed. "He's a big boy. He'll be fine."

"But what if he isn't?" she asked, and I could hear the pain in her voice.

I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to think that there was a possibility that Newbie wasn't coming back, and I sure as hell didn't want to hear Carla crying. How could she possibly understand how hard this was? How could she even pretend to know what I was feeling?

I looked over at her, saw the tears running down her cheeks. And I realized that she did understand. I wasn't alone in this silent fear. I'd only made myself believe I was.

"What if he isn't…" she muttered again, choking back a sob.

"Shut up," I yelled. "Just quit it, will you? You think guilt tripping me is going to change anything? Newsflash, Carla—I'm never going to change. I'll wake up tomorrow the same self-loathing narcissist I am today." I was on my feet by now, my face hot and eyes burning with fury.

Carla stood up beside me, getting right in my face, her eyes watery and red. "Don't lie to yourself—and don't you _dare _try to lie to me."

We stood there in a stalemate, each daring the other to make the first contradiction. I felt my fists clench and shake; I needed to hit something. I needed to yell. I needed to get out of this room, god damn it!

Turned out, though, that neither of us needed to speak to end the battle. The battle would never be won. Our pagers both sounded, the beeping synchronized. Sickeningly enough, I was almost certain of the emergency before I flipped open the pager and read the memo.

Carla gasped. I felt numb, and before I knew it, I was racing down the hallway. I couldn't believe it. I _wouldn't_. But I had to make sure.

I had to make sure JD was still alive.

* * *

Nanananabooboo! So, yeah. Ummm. Hell Shift on Saturday and Sunday AND today, don't expect an update anytime soon. Ugh. How the heck am I gonna get my homework done?? Stupid learning, getting in the way of everything...who has that anti-high school hair conditioner/shampoo? I want some. Don't tell me it's not real, I've heard the rumors!

Lol I haven't slept it DAYS. I swear to god, I'm practically hallucinating. At one in the morning yesterday I actually CRIED because Simon died in Lord of the Flies, and I was reading the freaking CLIFF NOTES--not to mention that I already read the darn book in the eighth grade two years ago. Then I started babbling to my coach about a conversation I was about a hundred percent sure we'd had, but she looked at me like, "What the hell...?" so apparently that discussion never HAPPENED...yeah...I'm gonna sleep now...

REVIEW and maybe I'll update instead of sleeping tomorrow after the Hell Shift. I'm literally working 9:00-4:00 at the store I work part time for, then babysitting from 6:00 till god knows when...Sunday is similar, lol. Lol. I can imagine those lil kids all, "Umm...what's fanfiction...?" Now THERE'S a can of worms I'd rather not open. I'll be watching Disney movies and conking out over sippy cups when they go to bed. SO REVIEW.


	12. Chapter Twelve

DisclaimerL I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Twelve_

Barbie was the one who resuscitated him. She'd been in the room when it happened; I felt another unwelcome pang of guilt. If I'd been in there, she wouldn't have had to deal with it alone. She came out of the room sobbing, barely able to function once the job was done. I opened my mouth to say something, but she'd rushed past everyone before I could so much as utter a word. Carla followed her.

His respiratory system was failing. They were going to put him on a ventilator. I knew that any road back from that was going to be a long one, a road that Newbie might not necessarily even get to if he kept on getting worse.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Gandhi, Newbie's best friend, who had just run in on the scene. He saw the empty room; they had moved the kid to get him on the ventilator. "Where is he? Where's JD?"

"Upstairs," I heard myself tell him, even though my thoughts were scattered in a million different directions. "He stopped breathing…he's on the ventilator now."

The surgeon closed his eyes, swearing under his breath. "This can't be happening," he muttered, looking again into the empty room. "I tell you, he was fine last week. This _can't _be happening."

I considered the words. What disease would strike so swiftly, so unprovoked? What could Newbie possibly have?

Why the hell did I care so much?

I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. This was me. Not some willy-nilly, emotionally broken girl. I shouldn't be obsessing over this.

"Yeah, well, it's happening, Gandhi. You're in a hospital, remember?" I said scathingly, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "You wanna quit? Quit today. Quit tomorrow. People will keep on dying anyway, because that's just how things—"

"Was that the Dorian kid?"

It was the Janitor. I rolled my eyes. "Once you're I'm through with you, buddy, I have one question to ask—was it worth interrupting me for this? Yes, it was Newbie. Don't you have a hallway to clean?"

Something in his face seemed to fall, but he immediately stood up straighter, aiming his mop out in front of him in a defensive stance. "What floor?"

"Three. Now get out of here," I growled.

"Could you just cool it? You're pissing everyone off. We've got enough to deal with without you—"

I put my balled fists up to my eyes and pretended to wail. "Wah," I mocked him. "We've got enough to deal with! Boohoo, I forgot to take my meds today, poor me," I continued. A rush of something—I never quite know how to describe the feeling when I'm belittling something—rushed up in me, filled the void. The distraction was welcome, and for a moment, looking at the hurt and shock on the surgeon's face was enough to help me forget everything else that was going on.

"My best friend is dying, so yeah, I'm a little upset," he fumed, bumping shoulders with me as he walked briskly past.

I realized my fists were clenched and shaking.

"Are you finished?" Carla asked coldly. Half the nursing staff was giving me the "death glare."

I took a deep breath. "Yes, thank you."

She didn't answer. I knew I'd pushed the last button—no more sympathy for the asshole. Finally, I'd gotten what I wanted.

Richards passed me in the hall, trying to avoid me. I grabbed his shoulder.

"It's botulism," he blurted before I could start to press him.

In my shock I loosened my grip, accidentally letting him go. It didn't matter. I'd heard the words loud and clear.

Botulism. It had to have been food-borne; God only knew what the hell it was Newbie ate at sleepovers. That meant somebody was going to have to call the CDC for the antitoxin. I took a deep breath. "Somebody" wasn't going to be me.

I thought of what else it meant. If we didn't get the antitoxin fast enough, Newbie might be paralyzed for months before he recovered. There was no telling how that might affect him, and I knew he wouldn't have the insurance for it, seeing as he was still paying of his med school loans and the insurance plan for the Sacred Heart staff was next to crap on the roadside. He might have permanent breathing problems. Damn it, it was probably too late to correct that.

He'd never be the same.

Funny, I wasn't really thinking about how it would affect Newbie himself. I was thinking about how it would affect _me_. It was the sad, awful truth. I couldn't imagine waking up and not having that flea of a kid badgering me every three seconds, grinning cockily, trying to be my friend. Reminding me that despite my efforts, not everyone hated me. I needed someone to do that.

I looked up, as if staring through the ceiling straight onto the third floor where Newbie was now. He needed the antitoxin _now. _Not tomorrow, when it would arrive. Now.

I wandered out to the waiting room, full of sick patients, and left through the double doors. I eventually found a bench and sat down, unsure of what to think. I'd gotten the truth—the diagnosis. They had to be certain; nobody called out on botulism unless they were absolutely sure, because it could mean a strain had infected dozens of other people. Who else had it? Who else had eaten whatever it was Newbie had eaten? What if it was hospital food? What if…?

I stopped thinking about it. It was up to some other doctor now; it was out of my hands. It wasn't my job to stay up all night worrying about the stupid kid.

"Coxy."

I knew the owner of the voice before I looked up. "Dan," I muttered in acknowledgment, getting up from the bench. I saw a woman with him and frowned, looking her up and down. "What's this, your girlfriend?" I said sarcastically.

Dan cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "My mom."

I scoffed. "Keep a better eye on him," I said, rolling my eyes at the memory of Dan attempting to drown himself in beer and bathwater in Newbie's apartment.

She frowned back at me, confusion evident in your eyes. I waited for Dan to break the tension with some immature joke, but nothing of the sort happened.

"Looking for Newbie?"

"No, I'm looking for Britney Spears."

His voice was bitter. I hadn't heard Dan bitter since he gave me the Mentor Figure talk, and that was more than a year ago. He seemed genuinely sarcastic, though; harsher than before. It wasn't Dan.

"Then you've come to the right hospital. Follow me."

* * *

"Why is he all…?" My voice faltered. I wasn't quite sure how to ask; what the hell was all that machinery, anyway? I knew from my mom's daytime soaps that they couldn't be good news, but that was the farthest extent of my medical knowledge.

Dr. Cox looked into the room with a detached expression on his face. "His respiratory system is failing," he said in a monotone, as if trying to separate himself from it. "You can go on in, but he probably won't be able to talk to you. We found out what he has."

I didn't think to ask. It didn't really matter to me because it wouldn't have made sense with or without a diagnosis. It was my mom, who up until that point hadn't said much except "excuse me" to the angry janitor she'd bumped into, who posed the question.

"So?"

Dr. Cox shook his head. "Botulism."

Her expression grew grave. "I heard about that on the news once a couple years back," she muttered, but didn't offer anything more to the discussion.

"I'm going in. You coming?" I asked my mom.

Dr. Cox shook his head.

"Not yet," said my mom, staring into the room with a frown. A couple of moments passed before she added, "He's different."

"It's been twelve years. Things change," I explained somewhat bitterly, glaring at the pair of them. They deserved each other. So this was Johnny's support system? I couldn't believe Dr. Cox had tried to guilt trip me about the bath tub incident when he couldn't even go in to see my brother when he was hooked up to all those machines. "Take your time," I added sarcastically.

Then I took a deep breath and walked into the room, wondering if this would be a moment that, in retrospect ten years from now, would bring me despair or relief.

* * *

Uuuuuuuggggghhhh. Day Eight without sleep: starts talking to inanimate objects. That's right, everyone. I woke up sitting in bed talking to the wall after a precious fifteen minutes of sleep, followed by three hours of trying to fall back asleep, followed yet again by hitting the snoooooze button three times, which led to me being late for tryouts for swim team, which led to me STRESSING OUT and...and...I just wrote a four page paper for chem and then I drew the whole freaking dashboard in the car...and...I can't form legible sentences (asterisk) conks out on keyboard (asterisk). My GOD. I'm totally scatter brained this week. I'm desperate for sleep. And yet I'm on the comp. Eh. Priorities blow, don't ya think? Anyway, tune in next time for Day Nine: starts talking to inanimate objects IN PUBLIC!

Review or I won't update...I'll sleep instead! MWAHAHA. I hate school.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: Mehhhh. I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Thirteen_

I found Elliot in the cafeteria, looking into an open container of red jell-o as if she were trying to read all the secrets of the world in its contents. She was shaking slightly. I could tell from a distance that she was still crying.

I pulled up a chair and sat next to her. She twitched, obviously having heard me sit down, but didn't say anything. We sat there in silence for a few minutes, lost in our own thoughts, mutually thankful to have the other sitting next to us as an excuse to passerby. I was so distracted that after a while I forgot to be mad at Dr. Cox for being such an ass. All I could think of was JD's pale face, the whine of the heart monitor, the terrifying fear that it wouldn't start up again—

"You've known him for twelve years," Elliot squeaked out through her tears, still staring into the dessert intently, her hair covering her eyes. "You probably feel a lot worse than I do right now."

I nodded to myself even though I knew she wasn't looking. "We're both friends with him. Of course we both feel…" I couldn't explain it, I was just a man, for god's sake. Wasn't it the women who were supposed to pinpoint emotions so as-a-matter-of-factly? I missed Devil Woman. We needed her more than ever, with that tiny scratch of power she managed to give us through her eerie analysis of our behaviors. Even Carla was breaking down.

And now Elliot was silently asking _me _for help. What the hell could I do? I was the jerk who dreaded going to visit his own sick best friend. I'd gone, though, four times; better than Dr. Cox could say he had. But still, I felt like the world's biggest jerk.

"It's alright," I said numbly, only because it was what I'd been trained to say in situations like this.

Elliot shook her head. I guess I wasn't exactly helping her.

"I miss him. I feel like a selfish brat—he's in there dying, and all I can think about is how much I miss him. How terrible _I _feel."

I chuckled softly. "Don't worry about it. I feel the exact same way," I said, and for a moment I felt a little better. And then I remembered that it would only take one ring of my pager, one code blue, and JD could be dead like an unsaved gameboy game with dead batteries.

"I just need to get out of here," Elliot said, her voice breaking. She picked up her untouched fork and jabbed it violently into the jell-o, sending little globs of it flying. She didn't acknowledge it.

I stared at a glob and sighed. "You know what? Let's go get Rowdy and bring him to the hospital. JD could use him right now."

She offered me a small smile, finally looking up from the table. "You're right. Let's go."

* * *

"Hey, Johnny," I started. But I had no idea where the one-sided conversation was going to go. I sat on the chair silently, ever aware of the two adults' eyes burning into my back from outside. I was selfishly glad that they hadn't come in with me, so they couldn't see my face or hear me talking to him.

For a while I just looked around at him and the room. It was uniform white, the walls all decked out in that same color, and had a window with the blinds down. JD's dark hair was almost a shock in contrast to his surroundings. There was a tube going down his throat and several machines in the room, beeping. I knew one was a heart monitor. I stared at it for a moment, then turned back to my brother.

"Guess we haven't talked in a while," I admitted. I wished he could hear me, but if he could, then it would be even harder to say. "Sorry about that. I got caught up in things."

I felt a twinge of guilt. Got caught up in what, exactly? Even with Caleb and the bartending, I wasn't all that busy. I could have spared a few moments to call.

"Okay, maybe I didn't. But I said I was sorry." Might as well be perfectly honest with him. "I mean, it's not like we call each other a lot…I couldn't have known. But I guess I should tell you—Mom remarried." I paused and laughed. "Yeah, big shocker there. Not like it's happened twenty times before. But this time…they adopted a kid. His name is Caleb."

I bit my lip. "I really want you to meet him. Cute kid. And I'm not just saying that because I have to share a room with him…" I sighed. "Even if Mom doesn't, I think you should get to see the kid. You're a good influence. He'll need that when he's older, cuz hell knows I'll never be a role model."

I listened to the hum of the machines and tapped my foot on the floor distractedly. Finally I just blurted it out. "You know what? I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for walking you to the wrong school and sabotaging your lunch box, I'm sorry for stealing your homework and making fun of you in front of all the kids we knew, and I'm sorry—" My breath caught. I was getting a little too ahead of myself, so I slowed down and continued, "And I'm sorry for ignoring it when those guys beat you. I'm sorry for not trying to help. I'd do anything in the world to make it up to you now."

My eyes were watering, but I knew I wasn't going to cry. It took a lot to actually make me cry. I just wasn't born with the tear-duct gene like Johnny was.

"Now I just…I just wish you could actually hear everything I just said," I sighed. "Because now I'm going to have to repeat it to you when you wake up and I don't know if I can do that again."

* * *

"So, pardon my asking—well, on second thought, don't pardon anything because I really don't give a crap—why haven't you seen your kid in twelve years? Cuz last I checked, when people were related—"

Her knuckles were clenched and white, her eyes glaring at me. "You don't understand," she said in a hard voice.

I shrugged. "A lot of people say that, but hating the world and all of its inhabitants as I do, I actually understand quite a bit more than you would think."

"Who the fuck are you?"

I grinned. "Nice mouth," I said. "Are you sure you're related to Miranda in there?" Then

I forced a laugh. "Don't ya think it's funny that the f-bomb can be used as a verb, noun, _and _adjective? I even heard it used as an adverb once. Go figure."

Her lips clenched shut and she turned away from me. "Stay away from John."

I snorted. "John? Hell, I hardly ever call him anything short of a demeaning nickname, but even _I _know he calls himself JD." I got an eyebrow raise at the "nickname" part. "I'm his boss," I explained, as to eliminate any porno ideas she was getting in her head.

That didn't work for her. "JD?" She tested it out. "Used his father's last name."

"Yeah, a lot of kids do that," I pointed out mockingly. "Turns out I got saddled with my father's last name too, as did your other son, if I recall."

"Why are you trying to piss me off?"

"Don't flatter yourself, I do this to everyone." I looked at Dan in the chair, his back slightly slumped and his head in his hands. Was it so hard? Why couldn't I just bring myself to do that?

In all honesty, though, I _was_ trying to piss the woman off. See, in people's most furious states, they reveal more than they intend to—I would be a clear cut witness such events, usually because I messed up and blurted something out. And—whether it be because Lavern was turning me to the dark side or I was sickeningly plagued with boredom—I was curious about Newbie's mom. She looked withdrawn from him, a separate world.

"It's just…I was mad at him for so long, and now that I remember why…"

Ah. Here we go. It worked every time: piss 'em off, let them boil for a moment and deflate, and then sit back and enjoy the show. It was how I blackmailed half of my roomies in college, which ultimately led to me passing chemistry that semester before I got kicked out of the dorm.

So I didn't say anything, because I knew that if I stayed quiet, she'd spill it all in the end.

"Do you have kids?" she asked me.

"If a two-year-old monster counts, then yes," I replied, wondering what she was getting at.

There were tears in her eyes. "You know how it feels with kids, then." She shuddered as she took in a breath. "It's all so absurd. It shouldn't have happened this way. Reuniting because he's dying, getting guilt-tripped to see him by a bartender who usually doesn't give a crap about anyone or anything to come see him."

"Bartender Boy's your son, too," I reminded her. Then I silenced myself. She'd keep going; I was sure of it. I could milk anything out if I waited long enough.

She nodded. "Yeah…but he'd moved out of the house by the time…"

"By the time…?" I prompted her.

"By the time her boyfriends started beating Johnny so bad he landed in the hospital every other week from 'running into doors' and 'tripping on his shoelaces'," came an outside voice, bitter and angry. I turned to see Dan standing outside of Newbie's room, his face tight.

"Dan!"

"What?" he said sharply. "You weren't going to say it. You were going to make up some lie. But the truth is you ditched my little brother because he 'ruined your relationships' with your freaking boy toys. They _beat_ him, and he didn't say a _word_, not until he finally busted his leg up so bad at the end of his junior year that he could barely hobble around on crutches." Dan immediately looked shaken up by the time he'd blurted all the words out, but relieved at the same time. Exactly the reaction I'd been looking for, exactly the reaction I'd gotten from a million victims of the Cox-provocation before him.

Tears started rolling down the woman's cheek. "But…"

Dan shook his head. "Don't start with that. You know I'm telling the truth. Hell, I'm the only one who knows it, because he kept telling me over and over…and I didn't do anything…"

I swallowed hard. I'd expected a confession, yes, but not one that was quite so dramatic, and definitely not a direct accusation from Dan, Beer King of Alcohopolis. I tried to imagine a teenage JD getting beaten, and the idea was so easy to conjure up I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before. The kid was six feet tall, but there was absolutely nothing threatening about him. He couldn't scare a fly, and he definitely looked like the type a drunk guy would beat on.

When I looked up from the floor, Dan was gone and their mom was still standing next to me, clutching at her purse.

"Well?" I said.

She was too embarrassed by now to be mad. "That pretty much sums it up," she said weakly. "Twelve years. I didn't even go to their dad's funeral because I didn't…I didn't want to see him."

And then I did something I thought that I'd never, in all circles of hell, force myself to do.

"Look—that kid in there? Obviously not the kid you knew way back when. He's _ours_ now. We look after him. So unless you're planning to fix your mess I suggest you leave this hospital right now."

I blew out a breath, wondering if I could possibly, even sub-consciously, have meant a word I just said.

At least it got her to stay.

* * *

Okay, okay, okay! I have so much to say, lol. First off, I'm sorry for the delay in update, but I promise it'll be worth your while because I am in the process of creating an angsty one shot song fic (my specialty :D) that has hindered my updating ability. No worries, though. The show must go on (aka I'm a JDA addict).

OMG! Who's seen the promo for **Scrubs season six**?? I have, suckers! And boy, is it FUNNY. Confirmation: Kim _is _pregnant (scene--JD: You're pregnant? You're sure?... Kim: -holds up twenty stick tests- Yeah, I'm sure). And you know that Scrubs musical episode?? (Of course you do, who wouldn't???) One of the lines JD sings is something along the lines of "We can figure out what's wrong with you/ by looking at your poo!" SO FUNNY. And the janitor inhales ammonia...huh. Anyway. Had to get that out. Huh-larious!

Now review!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Fourteen_

"Dan, what the hell was that?" I asked, my mouth wide open.

"Oh, hey Carly," said Dan, walking past me.

I growled, catching up to him and hitting him in the back with a patient chart. "Carla," I corrected him again. "And I asked you a question."

"Well, you obviously heard everything from standing five feet away, so what do you want to know?" he asked, getting right down to the point without any fluff added.

I looked at Dan, looked into JD's room. Looked over at Dr. Cox and 'Mrs. Andrews' standing awkwardly next to each other, both too stubborn to move. "Why…how come we never knew about it?"

"Because most people don't wear signs on their backs that say 'I was beaten by my mom's boyfriends' everywhere they go. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"No, I won't," I said forcefully. "What's wrong with you? You're different. You're angry. I'd prefer the Dan from before, thank you."

He stiffened. "I just can't be like that right now. That's my brother in there. He's the only one who gets me, and he might not…I can't pretend it's not happening."

I realized that he was among the few who were rising to the challenge of JD's illness. Dr. Cox was too freaked to change his ways, but Dan wasn't. He was barreling right on through. Everything was turning out the opposite of the way I thought it would.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, seeing how hard I'd just been. "You're right. I'm sorry."

His eyes watered, his lips curling into a sad smile. "I'm not usually right about anything. I wish it didn't have to be this." An elevator arrived and he walked into it; he obviously had no clue where it was going, or even where he wanted to go, but I let him leave without a word. He'd redeemed himself to me. I'd never think of him the same way, hearing those words.

Then the shame hit. All this time I'd thought of him as the stereotypical slacker, the kid who would never grow up. I'd thought to myself, _Why bother calling? It's not like he'll care. _But who was I to think those things? JD and Dan, they had their differences and their arguments, but in the end they were brothers—a closer bond than anyone could share, even closer that mine and Turk's. They were stuck with each other from birth. I couldn't even imagine losing my brother Marco.

Suddenly the previous conversation came spilling back. I thought of JD as a kid, abused by men he hardly even knew. How was that right? And why didn't he ever say anything? I thought that abuse would be something a kid would carry with him his whole life, some sort of complex that everyone would be able to pinpoint. But JD had never said a word, never let on to his terrible past. I was sure Turk didn't even know, because he and I shared everything. I closed my eyes, trying to replay every memory of talking with JD, but there was never one hint that might lead me to the answer.

I was supposed to be the expert of advice. I was supposed to be the caring nurse who figured out people's problems before they even knew what they were themselves. I was supposed to be Carla, for god's sake, the woman the frightened interns flocked to on the first day when Kelso yelled at them! How could something that big have gotten past me?

And if JD had been abused without showing any signs of it, then who else? Maybe everyone has secrets I didn't know about. Maybe I wasn't as good at pinpointing problems as I thought I was.

I looked into Bambi's room, saw him lying on the bed motionlessly, and took a deep breath. Or maybe it was just some people were more than determined to hide anything about themselves that might make them different.

* * *

We were sitting in the doctor's lounge now, which was completely empty. I was off my shift, so I didn't feel guilty about sitting around—not, of course, that I ever would otherwise. "Mrs. Andrews," as she had introduced herself, had occupied herself with coffee from the machine; I was itching for a beer, but working in a hospital meant sacrifice.

"So what's he like now?"

"Huh?" I managed, coming out of my thoughts. I knew exactly what she was talking about, of course, but who was I to tell her what her son was like? Shouldn't she know?

"John. JD."

"I call him Newbie," I said to her as-a-matter-of-factly, "or Deborah or Annie or Susannah or whatever the hell pops into my head when I'm looking at him."

"I take it you're not too fond of each other, then," Mrs. Andrews said tartly, stiffening a bit at my response. She didn't get me quite yet. She didn't understand that I…okay, I guess I cared, but without _actually _caring at the same time. It was too complicated. She wasn't Carla or something. "Dan said he was happy here."

"He is," I said before I could stop myself. "I mean…if you really want to know," I continued uneasily, not sure if I wanted to begin a "deep" conversation with anyone today. "He's happy. Everyone likes him. He's like…I don't know, it bugs the hell out of me, but he's the kid."

"He's happy?" she echoed.

"He's weird," I corrected, not wanting her to get the wrong idea about how I felt. "Random. Sometimes I want to rattle his brain or crack his skull open because I don't know what the hell he's talking about, but maybe that's just me."

"He was…he was never really happy when he was a kid," Mrs. Andrews mused, looking into the coffee cup wistfully as if the years that had passed would return to her. Well, they wouldn't. I would know. All I wanted was for the past few days to rewind so I could diagnosis that damn disease right from the start, and Newbie wouldn't have to face months—maybe years—of physical therapy just to walk around. God only knew how long it would be before he could skip again.

"Really," I said doubtfully. "He's like a…I don't know. He's happy," I said for the tenth time in the past few minutes. "He coded today, you know. Pretty much died for a minute there. And you know what? I couldn't help but wonder what this place would be like without him. It's weird. I never give these things much thought—I'm a self-obsessed maniac with a chip on his shoulder, you see," I explained at her confusion. "But I think…I don't think that we could really go on without Newbie. He's always been there. Like alcohol and that sitcom you watch over and over again, he's always been there."

Tears were falling down her cheeks. "I can't even imagine what he's like, if what you've said is true. When he was younger…at least in front of me, he hardly even talked. This just doesn't make sense to me."

"Neither does your end of the story," I said, frowning. "Newbie, quiet for over ten minutes? The kid talks to himself sometimes, for god's sake. Never a dull moment."

And then I laughed. Because here I was—after all the pressure from Carla and the guilt-trips from everyone who knew Newbie—opening up to a complete and utter stranger. I knew why I was doing it, too. I knew that it was because whatever I had done to Newbie was nothing compared to what she had done to him, and that made me disgustingly happy. Someone was more guilty than I was. She couldn't judge me.

I felt a rush of relief, finally saying it aloud. It was true. I didn't know where I'd be if Newbie hadn't come into our lives. He reminded me why I wanted to become a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to make money like all those bastards (Kelso, cough, Kelso).

"You don't really hate him, do you?"

Her words felt like knives. "No, I don't hate him," I assured her. Did I act like I hated him?

Did Newbie think I hated him?

"I'm glad he's got someone on his side, then."

Yeah. And that someone wasn't me.

* * *

When I woke up, I felt something furry on my hand.

"Dude, we brought Rowdy," I heard Turk's voice.

Something wasn't right. Why did I feel…? Oh, god. There was a freaking tube down my throat. I gasped, but realized that I couldn't. With a feeling of dread, the obvious answer dawned on me—I was hooked up to a ventilator. Damn it.

"Is he waking up?"

It was Elliot this time; I'd know that voice anywhere. I resolved not to panic. I'd seen tons of patients panic before, and it was always a bother, anyway. Annoying patients, I'd think, always freaking out and leaving us to deal with them. Now I knew exactly how they felt. I wanted to rip the tube right out of my mouth.

Except I couldn't lift my arm up more than half an inch, I remembered with alarm. I opened my eyes. It was easier than it had been before, but I knew that the feeling wouldn't last long; they'd just start drooping again until they closed if I left them open long enough.

"Hey," Turk said quickly, "don't panic, man. It's just…uh…well, you know."

I tried to communicate my irritation through my eyes, and it worked somewhat, because Turk laughed in relief when I didn't spaz.

What had happened? Why did I feel like crap? I mean, worse than before, which was saying something all by itself.

"JD," Elliot said quietly, her voice shaking, "you coded a little while earlier while I was in the room with you."

I closed my eyes again, thinking back. She'd walked into the room to tell me something and I'd fallen asleep. And had nightmares…about when I was a teenager. I would have laughed if given the opportunity. It was so long ago. It didn't matter. Why had I…?

And then it hit me. I had _coded. _As in, my heart had stopped. I opened my eyes again with the realization, looking straight at Elliot sympathetically. It wasn't fair to her, what had happened. She was probably just scared walking into the room now, let alone talking to me.

I lifted two of my fingers, feeling Rowdy's furry nose.

"He missed you," Turk explained.

Elliot sighed. "I guess you already know you're on a ventilator. Surprise," she said with absolutely no enthusiasm in her voice. "There's more, too—"

"Elliot," said Turk warningly.

I tried to glare at him. I wanted to know what was going on. My eyes were practically screaming.

"I think his eyes are screaming," said Turk. He sighed submissively. "Go ahead and tell him."

Thank god for BFF connections.

"You've been diagnosed, JD…it's botulism."

My heart sank. I knew what it was without even thinking about it. I remembered doing a research paper in the beginning of med school and getting the highest grade in the class. If only that professor could see me now, basking in the irony of my life.

I was about to think how it couldn't get much worse when Elliot spoke again.

"And Dan's here."

That wasn't the bad part. I'd expected that. Something in me felt like he'd already been in the room with me.

"With your mom," Turk added.

…Oh.

* * *

Hey, anyone else doing NaNoWriMo? I'm SO close to 25,000 words it HURTS. Like, 500 words to go. OMG. I'm so happy. Last year I didn't make it, but this year--no siree, I'm not backin' out this time!

Anyways. Ten days until Scrubs season six premiere! I'm bugging everyone I know, even some people I DON'T know. I go up to strangers in the hallway and the swim team locker rooms and I'm like, "TEN DAYS UNTIL SCRUBS PREMIERES!" Some of them are like, "REALLY? OMG!! I LOVE SCRUBS! Did you see the episode where...?" But most of them are like, "WTF, random blonde kid, who the hell are you?"

I would get into my coolio car and drive away to avoid the utter embarrassment, 'cept I can't drive yet I don't have a car, lol (for good reason!!). Ugh I'm in Driver's Ed. It's harder than chemistry! It's harder than the college level history course I'm taking! IT'S SCARIER THAN SEX ED, and BELIEVE me, that was frightening enough (last year my bio teacher made us watch the video with the birthing scene on it...which she rewound three times to antagonise us in our misery).

Mmkay, I have to clean my room now. Byesies!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Scrubs-ish.

**SEVEN DAYS...**that is, until the Scrubs premiere on NBC! MISS IT AND DIE!

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Fifteen_

When I came out of JD's room, Carla was standing there waiting for me, her eyes puffy and expression distraught. "What's wrong, baby?" I asked. Beside the fact that my best friend may be paralyzed for months and all I can do is bring him a stupid dead dog while he suffers, I thought.

"I need to talk to you," she said, grabbing my arm. Elliot followed. I looked at Carla questioningly, but she didn't seem to mind the girl following us. Before I knew it we were in the supply closet and locking the door.

"I've already been in here twice today," Elliot whined. "This had better be good."

Carla flicked on the light, her eyes already watery now that we were out of sight. "Turk, how well do you really know JD?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "He's my best friend. As well as you can know someone, I guess," I said. That pit in my stomach that had taken residence grew a bit deeper. JD was my brother. I shared things with him I didn't share with Carla, and hell, she was the love of my life. I hated thinking about what would have happened if we hadn't gotten a diagnosis…what could still happen if he wasn't treated fast enough.

Carla rifled through what appeared to be files printed off the computer, then held them under the light. "Read this," she said.

Elliot hovered over me annoyingly, blocking most of the light, but I squinted to read. "Patient, age sixteen, admitted with broken right leg and severe concussion," I read aloud. I looked further down the medical history. "Arm out of socket, internal abdominal bleeding…shallow knife wound…" There was a long string of incidents spanning two years. "Patient, age seventeen, admitted with broken left leg," I read, letting out a low whistle. "Geez, what was this kid, a super klutz?" I asked, feeling a bit uncomfortable with Carla's demeanor.

Elliot squeaked in alarm. I stood there, trying to hand Carla back the records. "So…?" I asked when she refused them.

"Surgeons," she said in distaste. "Never care about the patient, just whatever it is they have to fix."

"Hey, that's not fair," I protested. "What is this, a pop--?" The question hung in the air as I read the name. "John Dorian," I said faintly.

"JD," Elliot paraphrased in a distant voice. "Oh my god. What kind of deranged sport or screwed up hobby—"

"He was beaten," Carla interrupted.

I scoffed. "That's impossible. I met Mr. Dorian before he died, and he'd never—"

"Not his father," Carla said.

"You're crazy, woman. His mom may be sketchy, but you've seen her—she's what, five foot two?" I laughed nervously, dreading the truth. Because there certainly would be a truth if she'd bothered to drag me in here when there were plenty of more pressing matters in the outside world. "She wouldn't be able to…"

Carla looked at her shoes. "But her boyfriends would," she finished for me.

Elliot shuddered so violently behind me I could practically feel the air shift. As for me, I was pretty much plastered to the spot, looking the chart up and down again. Eleven admittances for injuries that all seemed to be ugly sounding. And child abuse was never investigated.

I thought of JD back in college, how…was hyper the word? Now I understood. He wasn't just antsy; he'd been afraid. He'd been paranoid. And suddenly I was more glad than ever that I'd decided to take him under my wing, because otherwise he might still be jumping at the slightest touch. I pressed my forehead to the cold metal shelf of the supply closet, thinking back…

* * *

_I'd known JD for almost six months now, and he was starting to grow on me. At first he freaked me out a little bit. He hardly spoke and rarely came to meals or any other social gathering, usually leaving the room to go on a walk or to his classes. He was pretty dead set on becoming a doctor and that was about all he would share about his life, but I figured, you know, typical nerd. _

_Anyway, we broke the ice when I almost lit the room on fire with the Bunsen burner I'd smuggled from the chem lab to finish my lab report and one of the pillowcases had gone up in flames. I'd always remember that day. We started talking for once instead of him giving me wary glances and looking into a textbook when I walked into the room. _

_But like I said, six months into knowing each other, we were getting pretty tight. I was trying to introduce him to some of the friends I'd made, but he kept getting all twitchy. Now, knowing it had taken three months to even get JD to speak three words to me, I knew that even attempting to meet new people was a feat for him. But he kept flinching every three seconds or staring off into space. I finally confronted him about it. _

"_Hey, man," I said, greeting him with a pat on the back. _

_Predictably, he shuddered. "Oh, hey Turk," he said. _

_For being a dork, JD sure didn't look the part. I mean, normally it's the kid with his pants hiked up to his belly button with glasses and pimples that you'd expect to be this awkward, but the only thing nerdy about him was that gangly six foot tall look he had that made him look like a teenager who'd recently outgrown all of his clothes. He actually looked attractive—in a totally heterosexual way!_

"_Wanna go out tonight? Grace the ladies with our presence?" I asked conversationally, pretending not to notice the flinch. _

_He shook his head. "Nah, that's all right. You go on ahead, though. I have a huge Biochem test tomorrow." _

"_Aw, live a little," I said, walking with him towards the dorm. _

_He gave me an apologetic look. "I gotta get all As or my scholarship won't hold up," he reminded me. _

_I rolled my eyes. "Not this again, man. I mean, I know it's important and everything, but you're going to be a vegetable if you don't get out and have some fun with the homedogs." _

"_Home what?" he asked, confusion evident on his face. _

"_Man, I thought you came from the rough side of town," I said, rolling my eyes again. "What, did you hide indoors and walk out into the ghetto in a bubble?" _

"_No," he muttered, staring off into space. _

"_Stop doing that," I warned him. _

"_Huh? What?" _

"_This," I said, cocking my head to the side in imitation of him. _

"_Hey!" he said, getting a little mad. And I meant "a little" because for some reason, JD was never really mad at anyone. If anything, he was mad at himself. _

"_Sorry," I said, not really meaning it, "but honestly, that's what you're doing. People think you're nuts. And every time someone does this—" I held my hand up like I was going to high five him, and sure enough he ducked—"you wig out like someone's out to kill you." _

_He bit his lip abashedly. "I don't mean to," he said sincerely. He looked down at his shoes as we kept walking down the hall. _

"_I know, but you gotta work on that, you dig? Because otherwise no one's gonna know you as the funny guy like I do—they're just gonna think you're the spaz." _

_He nodded. "Okay. I'll try to stop 'acting like a spaz' if you shave your 'fro," he said, all gangsta-like. _

"_Be whiter," I said to him then, not knowing that I'd be repeating those very words again and again and again in the next twelve years. "So, you going out tonight?" I asked him, patting him on the back. _

_I could tell by the grimace on his face that he was trying with all of his might not to kill me just then. If I'd been more sensitive and less frat-boyish at the time, I might have asked him what was wrong. Why he kept acting that way. But I didn't. _

"_Yeah," he said reluctantly. "I'll go out tonight." _

_

* * *

_

I hadn't realized that I'd been telling the story aloud until Carla took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to settle herself down. I wondered how she could breathe. Probably because she didn't feel like the crappiest best friend in the world right now; she didn't have the guilt of twelve years weighing down on her.

I looked numbly at the chart in my hands and thought of how many times he'd blown through hospitals. Why hadn't anyone tried to make a connection? But I already knew why. JD, he was my best friend in the whole world, but he was a total klutz and he _looked_ like one. He was still, as he had been in college, the six foot tall kid who looked just a little out of place.

"When I was…" Elliot cleared her throat, clearly embarrassed. "When I was, um, sleeping with JD…I noticed he had a lot of scars…" She hiccupped a bit. "But I didn't ask. We were usually in the dark, anyway."

I frowned.

"I like it in the dark," she explained defensively.

Carla was leaning against me for support, but I didn't know if I could handle that right now. I felt like a total idiot. No wonder, I kept thinking, the words repeating like a broken record in my head. No wonder…

I gently pushed Carla aside. "I can't even believe this," I muttered to myself. "I can't believe I never knew."

"Baby," she said softly, but Carla knew that even she couldn't fix this. She couldn't fix any of it.

I needed to be alone. I needed to think. No, more importantly, I needed to _stop_ thinking.

My pager beeped. Emergency—report to the OR. I sighed.

So much for not thinking.

* * *

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I know what I'm thankful for. Family, friends, love, food--aw, screw it, I'm REALLY thankful for my husband, Zach Braff! OMG I just spent the better part of my morning picking out gifts for everyone I know in the catalogs that came today. Tomorrow's Black Friday...and I work in a toy store. Wish me luck. If you don't see an update in three days, then remember me well...

Anywho, I'm going to watch a movie with my mommy now, so...er...leave a review after the beep.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. (asterisk) snickers (asterisk)


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Scrubs.

MY GOD that took a long time to update. Fanfic kept dying on me. CLEAR! lol. Heehee. No, really, though, it wouldn't let me update--it hasn't worked since Thanksgiving! Not to mention that all the review/chappy notices are all shot to hell. I got about fifty notices of updated fics all at once yesterday, some of which I'd never HEARD of. Anywayyyy...READ.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Sixteen_

Dan came in before anyone else did. My eyes were open, so he knew I was awake. He looked a little freaked for a moment, like he wanted to leave, but the moment passed and he sat down.

I couldn't turn my head to look at him, but I knew from the sound of his feet shuffling that he was feeling it hard. I wished I could talk. I wanted to say something, tell him that it wasn't so bad because I was sleeping through most of it anyway, but he would know it was a lie even if I got that far.

"Hey, Johnny," he said, not even bothering with the cocky tone he usually used with me. I closed my eyes in acknowledgement, then opened them again to let him know I was listening. I was getting good at this whole eye-sign language thing. Blink once for yes, twice for no, three hundred seventy two times if you want a sandwich. Oh, wait, I lost count…better start blinking again…

I chased the daydream away, focusing on Dan's presence in the room. He sat there with me for awhile before he finally said, "Mom's here, you know."

I knew. He could tell; he was just saying it as a formality.

"Do you want her to go?"

I blinked twice, but I knew I didn't need to. He'd know how I felt without communicating. As much as I was shocked to admit it, Dan and I had grown up in the same screwed up household. Different as we were, we'd understand each other better than Turk and I ever would. We couldn't help it. We were brothers.

I didn't want our mom to go. This might be our last chance before…

No. I was going to live, no matter what everyone else thought. The scary thing was, though, that I had no idea what everyone else thought. At least Dr. Cox seemed confident I was going to live, because he hadn't visited me once.

And there it was. Justification. That was why he hadn't visited me, right? Because he knew everything would be all right?

"Yeah," Dan said, "thought so." He took a deep breath. "I guess she'll come in later."

I wondered what he was going to say to me now that he was here. Dan wasn't much for sentimentality; I'd learned that the hard way over and over again. Something seemed different, though. The winds had shifted. Oh, god, was that cliché or what?

"It's freaky, you know? You're all…not hyper," he fumbled with his words. He sounded like he was trying to work himself up to say something important, but he needed a moment. "But you're going to be okay," his voice said, breaking.

If I had a buck for every time someone had said that to me in the past two days, I'd be able to cover all the medical bills for this whole stunt and perchance a mansion out by the sea. It was getting old, but it meant so much more to hear it from Dan for some reason. Maybe it was because I hadn't been expecting it. Maybe it was because I had expected it and I'd been waiting for it all along. I didn't know. I didn't care.

"I was in here earlier," he said, clearing his throat. "I…I guess you missed my whole spiel, then, seeing as…"

He trailed off a lot. It was funny. When we were younger, he was usually the only one who had something to say, and I—as I was right now—was usually the one who listened. But this time he couldn't even figure out what to say. It was like Elliot after Dad died; emotionally confused, unable to express what she felt.

"Well, I guess I'll just say it again," he resolved, trying to sound upbeat for my benefit. "Mom remarried again. Yeah, yeah, roll your eyes," he laughed at my reaction. Then he grew more serious. "But I think it's gonna stick this time. It's a little freaky, but I think it might. The guy's nice enough."

I wanted to know who the baby was. I already knew about the married part, it was nothing new; but why—more importantly, how—did my mom get a baby mixed up her man-infested life?

"They adopted a baby," Dan explained, practically reading my mind at this rate. "His name is Caleb." He paused. "He's loud, but I can't complain. It's actually…sort of nice," he mused.

I had a baby brother? I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what he looked like. When had this happened? Why hadn't anyone thought to tell me? I wanted to meet him. I wanted to know him.

"I want you to see him," Dan assured me, "and you'll get to, as soon as you're out of here."

Great—incentive. Like the uncomfortable mattress wasn't enough inspiration, I thought wryly.

"And…and I know what you're thinking. I know you're remembering when we were kids and how I used to be so cruel."

He was wrong. I wasn't thinking about that, not at all. I was just grateful that at least he was here with me now, in a way that no one else could be.

"But it won't be like that this time—not with Caleb. I've got another chance, Johnny, and I'm not going to waste it…but I just…"

He choked up. I felt my eyes start to water a bit, but I blinked back the emotion, forbidding it.

"I'm sorry."

The words were like liberation; the making of change rattling through the forsaken hospital room, melting into the machinery, flying out the cracks of the window and flowing into the air. I knew right then that for the first time, he truly was sorry. It wasn't just our father or a teacher making him say it to me. It was him. He was cutting his losses and ending the battle that had become our lives since the day I was born.

"God, I'm sorry," he said again, emphasizing each word. "I don't know why…I picked on you so much. Or why I didn't even…I didn't even help when you were…when they were…"

His message had gotten across and he knew it, so he stopped. I could hear him sniffling softy. I'd never seen Dan cry while he was sober before. Well, not that I could see him, seeing as I couldn't turn my head around…but still. I felt bad about it.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

I blinked once. He wouldn't know it meant "yes" in JD-world, but I tried to smile at him. It must have looked grotesque, but to my credit, I did try. And he must have understood, because he touched my hand just then and continued.

"I promise it'll be different with Caleb. Everything will be."

A few minutes passed in silence, the two of us thinking back to the past; the wounds resurfaced and exposed, infected by their surroundings. Everything was going to change now, and I couldn't decide if it was for better or worse.

"So," Dan said conversationally, "what's the dead doggie doing here, anyway? I mean, this _is_ a hospital and all…"

* * *

It seemed like even my own kid was accusing me. It wasn't that he was crying, or left me five too many surprises in his diaper, or even that he'd used the crib as his personal teething ring again. But Jack was looking at me quietly, sucking on a pacifier with big blue eyes that stared right into my face. 

He looked so innocent and bewildered by his surroundings, yet he stayed focused on my face. He needed me. He depended on me. I was his father.

And I thought of Newbie because, for all intents and purposes, I was like his father. I began to question myself. If Jack were hurt, I'd be there for him, wouldn't I? I'd be helping get him through it every step of the way. Why was it so hard for me to suck it up and just talk to the kid?

Was it guilt, from all the constant berating I'd shoved down his throat? Something made me doubt that. I'd never felt bad about it before. Okay, maybe that one time he switched off my service and a few other minor bumps along the way, but never bad enough to actually, heaven forbid, end the torture sessions that were my bihourly vents.

God, I wished he was here just so I could yell at him right now. So it definitely wasn't guilt.

Shame? Was I ashamed because I hadn't caught it earlier? But hell, how would it be my fault? I shifted Jack in my arms, tearing away from his intent gaze. I knew I was supposed to be a doctor and all that crap, but Newbie was stubborn. As often as I called him spineless, he really wasn't. Compassionate, yes. And sometimes he cared just a little bit too much. But he was just the type that would hide it if he was feeling crappy, so it wasn't my fault.

Was it?

And there it was again—the uncertainty, the fear that it might be _my_ fault. If I'd paid attention, admitted him faster, then…

Finally, I knew what it was. My pride. I might be able to admit to myself, alone in a room with only my soon-to-be-two-year-old son, that Newbie meant something to me, but letting other people know would be admitting that I actually had feelings. Okay, not quite like that. People in that hospital know I care about the patients, but I like holding the solid reputation that I hate absolutely everyone else with in a ten foot radius of me.

"Carla called."

I hadn't known Jordan entered the room, but I didn't flinch. I'd gotten used to her silent intrusions.

I grunted in response.

"Said they gave DJ the antitoxin?" she said, as if asking a question. She cocked her head in mock confusion and sat down next to me. "That's funny, Perry, because I don't remember anyone saying the girl was sick."

I set Jack down on the floor with his blocks, bracing myself.

"You haven't even visited him once, have you?"

I couldn't look up at her. I couldn't even meet her eyes.

"Have you?" she asserted.

"No," I muttered, watching Jack start to play. What would it be like when he could understand what was happening? When he realized what a bastard I was? Would I be involved in his life then?

"Well, _why_?" she asked me.

I took a deep breath. "Because he needs someone who will be there for him, and I…"

"You haven't even tried," she reminded me, standing up again. She put her hands on her hips. "Honestly, how hard would it be to walk in on the kid and say hello, for god's sake? That nurse made it sound like it was serious."

I couldn't believe that the she-wolf was actually guilt-tripping me. I couldn't think of anything to say.

"Is this what you're going to be like with Jack?" she demanded, growing angrier at my silence. "You're supposed to be a father now. Grow up and stop being such a wuss. Face reality," she said forcefully.

I cringed, leaning back into the couch. "I can't," I whispered. My eyes started watering up and I saw that I had been wrong. It wasn't my pride. I couldn't care less if someone knew I cared.

I was scared, dammit, and I hated being scared more than anything in the world.

"Then try. For DJ," she said, leaving the room.

"For Bethany," I asserted after she left, scooping Jack back up in my arms.

* * *

Mmkay, that was a load of crappy fluff. Don't shoot me.

To answer your questions: the Scrubs premiere is this **Thursday **night on **NBC**, either at eight o'clock or nine o'clock. **IF YOU MISS IT, I WILL NEVER EVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN. Scratch that, I just won't type to you ever again. Okay, okay, just for a week. CRAP I've abused the bold type...now it has less significance...awwww CRAP. **

And by all means, people TIVO if you have it! TIVO IT TWICE IF POSSIBLE! All my friends are tivoing (didja know that the TIVO creators actually TOLD the media they were allowed to use the word tivo as a verb or adjective? hard asses...take this!) it for me just in case. Probably because I keep saying dorky things like, "THREE DAYS TWELVE HOURS AND FIFTY SIX MINUTES!" (to which my teacher replied with "QUI PARLE EN ANGLAIS?" (who speaks english?). Heh. There goes my participation grade! Fortunately, though, the teacher seems to not know my name, though we're well into second quarter...she's called me Rebecka, Emily, Anna, Emily again, Sophie--hell, she called me by my BROTHER'S name once. My name's EMMA. TWO LOUSY SYLLABLES! I SIT AT THE FRONT OF THE CLASS, FOR GOD'S SAKE! lol. Stupid stupidness. Lol. If you're still reading this, congratulations, because you've officially withstood the amount of ranting my friends hear in approxamitely thirty seconds. I'm like Elliot, I talk at the speed of light!

Lol...how many people just totally thought TEAM ROCKET, BLAST OFF AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT! at that? (asterisk) raises hand (asterisk). GUILTY :D. Not...a NERD...


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Seventeen_

When I finally worked up the nerve to go visit Newbie, I found that someone else had beaten me to the punch. His mother stood outside the door hesitantly, as if trying to decide whether or not going in would be the right thing to do. I walked over and stood next to her.

"Mrs. Andrews," I said, greeting her awkwardly.

She shook her head. "Barbara," she told me, offering her first name. I wasn't sure, though, if I wanted it.

She seemed tired, her hair now put into a messy bun and her eyes slightly unfocused, sort of like Newbie's were when he was off in whatever gay Barbie world he frolicked in during my rants. "How long have you been here?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Three hours, I guess," she admitted. "He got the antitoxin about an hour ago."

"I know, I got the call," I told her.

She smiled at that, but not for long. "I don't even know the kid anymore," she said. "What if he hates me?"

I snorted—I couldn't help it. Newbie was so forgiving that it constantly bit him on the ass with every passing day. "I've been trying to get him to hate me for years, and it still hasn't worked," I assured her. "I think you'll be fine."

"But you never…"

She didn't want to say it. I didn't want to hear it. I thought of all the times I'd ranted and yelled at the kid and he'd seemed entirely unphased by it, and how much it annoyed the hell out of me—and now I knew why I never scared him. Because he'd gone through so much worse that one forty-something red-faced bastard wasn't going to send him running, that was why.

Come to think of it, a lot of things made more sense now that I knew…about the abuse he'd gone through. He was always drifting off like he wasn't paying attention to anyone. Was he remembering the past every time I yelled at him? I suddenly felt more guilty than I would have liked to feel. But maybe I was wrong; maybe that was just Newbie being Newbie. Though other weird things he did explained a lot, too. Like how he could never get mad at anyone, not for too long, at least. All it took to get him back on your side was one shoulder pat or a hello in the morning and you were fine with him for the rest of your life. He was always afraid of being disliked…but what did he think we were going to do, hit him as hard as his mom's ex-boyfriends did?

"It was more than ten years ago, wasn't it?" I reminded her somewhat aloofly. After all, this was her beef, not mine. All I had to do to clear MY conscience was walk into that room and say that hello that would put me in Newbie's favor for a lifetime, and then leave. It was too easy.

I sighed. It WAS too easy, which was why it could never happen like that.

"You didn't see it," she said quietly. "What they did to him. I was too scared to say anything because I always thought that they'd…" She shuddered. "They were big guys, got drunk a lot. I don't know how I kept getting together with…that type of guy. I was always afraid they'd beat me if they didn't…"

"Beat JD instead," I finished for her, understanding even if the thought of it still made me sick. I could see now part of the reason why she ignored it; but to blame him for it? I shook my head. Maybe there are just some things I'd never understand, like how Newbie ended up near death in the first place. So I didn't ask why.

"He never really said anything about it. I guess that's why I was so mad—I was mad because he wouldn't even admit to the abuse, even when he ended up unconscious. I kept thinking that if he'd just told someone, they'd see the situation and arrest those guys." There were tears streaming down her cheeks. "But John—stubborn kid, just like his father—he didn't say anything. And I didn't break up with either of those men because I was too afraid of what they'd do. Eventually, though, they left, one after the other. I just never learned." She hiccupped, staring into Newbie's room. "I don't think he'll ever understand that I really didn't mean the things I said to him."

"You have to tell him," I said, kicking myself for sound like Carla. Damn it, these past few days were just racking up one atrocity after the other. When did I get like this?

She nodded. "I don't even know your name," she said, frowning.

"Perry Cox," I said.

"Well, Perry Cox," she said, taking a deep breath. "Thank you. For everything."

Saying "blow it out your ass" was almost primal instinct by now, but I repressed the urge. I looked in on Newbie. Realized that if Carla hadn't called me about the antitoxin being administered, I never would have known. Hell, I hadn't even checked the kid's chart since his initial collapse.

When I stood there, frozen, as the kid stopped breathing. Not…doing…anything.

She entered the room, leaving me standing there with a hatred so deep it could only be aimed towards myself.

* * *

When I walked in it was like being in a time warp. I thought back to years ago, during John's junior year in high school. He'd been lying on a bed in this very hospital, looking small and pale and pained. Except the injuries he had then were the kind that a doctor could fix; who would fix him now? I knew enough about botulism from all the articles in the paper during last year's breakout. All anyone could do at this point was sit back and pray it hadn't done too much damage before he got the antitoxin. 

Somehow I felt like it was my fault. I felt like he'd only gotten sick because I never spoke to him and hadn't been a part of his life for twelve years.

That meant he was…twenty-nine. I blew out a breath. When did that happen? How many birthdays had I missed? I thought of Caleb at home, barely even a year old. How weird it was to have a twenty-nine-year-old son and a baby. Dan was thirty two, which made it even weirder.

I looked up at his face and was immediately reminded of his father. A lump formed in my throat, remembering the funeral. I'd been there, but I'd skipped the services to avoid John. But I'd seen him. That was what I was most ashamed of. I'd been right there the whole time, able to walk up and just say a simple "I'm sorry" and reconnect with him, but I hadn't.

I touched my hand to his, but he didn't flinch. His eyes opened in slight alarm, and I remembered that he couldn't move. I stepped back impulsively, seeing the long scar that went from the top of his hand to his forearm in a slight curve.

I looked at my own arm. Completely clear and unscarred, no rememberance of the past to wake up to every morning. How did he do all that he did? For years after those two boyfriends I had, I felt like a lost fish, floating around aimlessly. I'd carried a couple of retail jobs and dated a few people. It wasn't until my current husband, Fin, that I'd had any sort of solid ground in my life. It was just me and Dan, coexisting and pretending it was all okay.

But John? He'd kept right on chugging. Scholarships and loans, excellent grades and an undefeatable passion. And twelve years later, I come back and he's "co-chief resident" of the hospital (I read it on some plaque to a door that I thought was a broom closet with a table and tow chairs stuffed into it, but I guessed it was his office). What had happened to him? How did he change so much after all that he'd been through? Last I remembered him, he was shut up in his room or working unbelievably late shifts at the minimart to avoid coming home. Now…he was different.

"Hello," I said, a little more stiffly than I'd have liked.

He didn't say anything. Not like he could have, with some tube shoved down his throat. I wished he could have, though. I wanted to know what he was thinking, if he really wanted me here or not.

His eyes stayed open, for what little comfort that was. I cleared my throat.

"Been a while," I said, my voice strained. I tried to relax. I mean, honestly, he was my son. I shouldn't be so nervous talking to him. I looked out at the man, Perry Cox, and he gave me a nod. Whoever he was, he knew my own son better than I did. I nodded back at him, wishing he'd come in the room with me, but he seemed to have his own reasons to avoid coming in.

"I just…" My eyes filled with tears and I couldn't speak. I sat down in the chair next to his bed, trying to shake off the emotion. I didn't want to freak him out while he was this sick. But he needed to know the truth.

"I'm so sorry," I finally choked out. "For everything. And…" The room was blurring from the tears in my eyes. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. I took his hand again, wondering if he could even feel it. "If you'll let me, I want to explain. Everything," I said, trying to calm down. "I want to be a part of your life again."

"Again." I supposed there had been a time before when I was a part of it. I remembered when he was little, he and Dan were on the baseball team together. Before they started fighting a lot. Before the divorce. I remembered him toothless, I remembered him graduating from elementary school…and after that, there wasn't much I was involved in, except occasionally telling Dan to stop picking on him.

Ha—telling Dan to stop punching him on the shoulder while my boyfriend punched his lights out. It seemed so absurd to me.

"I just want you to know that I'm here now, for what it's worth." And I wasn't sure if it was worth much.

The door opened. For a moment I thought it might be Dr. Cox, but it was another doctor, who seemed a bit caught off guard by my presence.

"I'm Dr. Richards," he said, extending his hand for me to shake.

"Barbara Andrews," I introduced myself, shaking his hand. "I'm…John's mother."

"I'm JD's doctor," he explained, looking a bit surpised when I called him John. "I'm just checking in on him. The ventilator's coming off," he reported, smiling as if this were the best news in the world.

"The…?"

"Tube in his mouth," the doctor clarified. "He seems to be making slow progress, but we can't get too excited. We don't know how much…impairment there has been to the nerve cells yet, so it's impossible to tell how long he'll be here."

"It looks okay, though?" I asked tentatively.

"Looks okay for now," he said, leafing through John's chart.

I looked over at John, whose eyebrows seemed to be raised in a sort of "stop-talking-like-I'm-not-in-the-room" way. I held back a chuckle at that.

"Whose…stuffed dead dog is this?" the doctor asked.

John's eyes, at least, seemed to be smiling, even if he couldn't. But he was looking at me with that smile. God, when was the last time I'd seen him smile? I'd forgotten how raw and unguardedly he smiled, forgotten how contagious his moods were. I was grinning back like an idiot before I could help myself.

Just then another man walked in. "Oh…hi,"he said uncomfortably when he saw me. "I'm Turk."

He introduced himself as if I should already know him. I bit my lip. Not someone from John's high school days, that much I knew. He was African-American and looked pretty confident; I'd have remembered him.

"Oh," I said. "Uh…"

"JD's best friend," he prompted me.

I shrugged. "Sorry." I felt another jolt of guilt at not even knowing who his best friend was. I shook his hand. "I'm John's mother."

"Hi," he said awkwardly, stepping back after I shook his hand. Ah. So he must have heard about…John's past. "Nice to meet you…uh…"

"Barbara."

A heavy silence burdened the room. I looked outside to the hallway, but Dr. Cox was gone. My eyes fell to the floor. "Well, I'll…see you, then," I said, leaving the room.

"Yeah. See ya," he said vaguely, watching me as I went.

* * *

God bless the ability to talk. I was near out of my mind with the ventilator, and when I say "out of my mind," I mean literally almost taken over by the strange daydreams I had. Number one being ripping the ventilator's tube out and dancing with it, number two being chucking it out the window and hitting Kelso with it, number three being the tube turning into a hot girl who would adore me forever and ever (but then again, what girl doesn't??). The moment they took it out, though, I felt completely liberated. 

And then I remembered that I could hardly talk anyway, so it didn't matter much. At first it was a little hard to breathe, actually, since I'd been getting used to the ventilator for the past few days. But I got over the initial shock after a few minutes or so, as sucky as those minutes were. Now I just couldn't move.

Besides, there were worse shocks than being off that damn tube to worry about at the present moment. My mother being the primary shock there. Oh, and the fact that I have a baby brother. I mean, what the hell? Where'd that come from? Not to mention my older brother had just come in and apologized for all the times he tortured me as a kid. Last I checked, we'd thrown that all behind us and let it rot.

A lot of weird things happen if people think you're going to die, I speculated. I wasn't sure exactly what had happened, though. It was all a blur. Sleeping, waking up, hallucinating, even; what was real, and what wasn't? Once when I woke up I found Carla crying. Another time I saw Elliot and Turk sleeping in separate chairs. An even stranger time I saw Elliot and Dan sleeping on the same chair. Huh.

Come to think of it, a lot of people came and went. Kelso was in here with a bunch of interns for a while, and the Janitor repeatedly changed the light bulb in my room. Even Lavern was checking my chart at one point, and I'm about fifty percent sure Ted was chanting "please don't sue, please don't sue" for a little while.

But that was just it—I wasn't sure if any of that had happened. And if it had, then…it was too much to absorb. After all these years, my mom finally gave up the feud with me. She was actually apologizing. It was almost too hard to understand, because I'd given up on any hope of reconciliation such a long time ago.

I gave up trying to think about it all. I was getting way too tired, anyway, and it was cold in this room…I just wanted to sleep.

I closed my eyes, shutting down my mind, but a small part of me still had to wonder: Where was Dr. Cox? Why didn't he care?

* * *

This has been the most HECTIC weekend ever. As you all know, I've been sick (STILL! I CANNOT BELIEVE HOW LONG IT'S BEEN! I'm frickin' coughing up a lung in front of all the customers..."Take a sick day," you might say, but I COULDN'T, and you wanna know why?? Because some OTHER employee who was SUPPOSED to come in was _hungover_ and wouldn't come. WTF!! Now I know why they hired me so young, I'm the Hangover Patrol!). I raced so many races--swimming AND running--and worked a total of thirteen hours in two days. Plus I had to miss my voice lesson RIGHT BEFORE THE RECITAL because I STILL can't talk/sing.

Although this week was also quite good. Partially because they're selling gingerbread cookies with the beastiestly yummy frosting at the gourmet food store near where I work, but also because fanfiction is still in existence and the next Scrubs episode is less than a week away. Plus the popcorn machine at my work is still running, and despite minor drawbacks (-cough- getting fat and sick to my stomach -uncough-), I am rather enjoying the benefits. Not only that, but my swim team has more spirit than ANYONE ELSE'S...soo...YEAH! RAH RAH!

PlZ rEvIeW. TeEhEe.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

Blur

_Chapter Eighteen_

"You can't stand there all day," Carla said critically.

"Whoa," I said, backing up. "Lay off, sister. Or was it that you just can't stand the thought of me breathing your air? Because believe me, even though you need a lot of the air to puff up your ego, I'm sure there's enough to go around. And I know, I know, you're probably concerned with global warming and all, but—"

Carla turned on her heels and started to walk away furiously, ignoring my rant.

"Wait," I called after her pathetically, sounding a little more desperate than I meant to.

"Give me one good reason," she said, her voice even with anger, not even bothering to turn to face me.

"Because…" I sucked it up and decided to tell her the truth. "I can't do it alone."

At that she turned around, laughing bitterly. "You're not alone. You see the patient in there? That's JD. That's my friend, and I'll be damned if he's not yours, too. He's the same person, Perry. What do you think is going to happen?"

I looked into the room, grimacing. The ventilator was gone, and I could clearly see his paled, sickly face sinking into the pillow, so still and unaware. I missed his idiocy. I missed it, dammit. _What do you think is going to happen?_ Carla asked. I took a deep breath.

"He'll never be the same, Carla," I said softly, putting the truth into words. "He'll never…"

"It's still JD," Carla repeated forcefully, tears springing into her heated, passionate eyes. "It's still JD, no matter what happens." She shuddered, trying to blink the tears back. "Besides, we don't even know if it's that bad. He might be fine. He might be walking around in a week."

I scoffed disbelievingly. "He may never walk again."

Carla shook her head. "You care, Perry. You know that. Go see JD, would you? Please?"

"He's sleeping," I excused myself, trying to avoid the confrontation.

She rolled her eyes at me. "He'll wake up as soon as the door opens. He's still as jumpy as…" Her eyes filled with tears again. "Jumpy kid," she croaked, reflecting. Her eyes grow misty. "Always has been."

"What do you mean by _that_?" I asked Dan's outburst from earlier and the confession from Newbie's mother popping fresh into my mind. I shook my head. He needed me, the kid, he always had. And he didn't need much. He needed the occasional rant just to remind him that I knew he existed—he really never asked for anything more. And all the while, he'd been helping me grow; not just as a doctor, but a human being.

The student becomes the teacher…that crappy line from Star Wars.

"You have to see for yourself," Carla said in a teary voice, passing me the papers in her hands.

I scanned the list of hospital admittances, injury after injury. I read it all, from top to bottom, and became sick to my stomach. Sure, my dad had done a number or two on me, but never anything this bad. One time he broke my arm, but that was the worst of it. He was drunk. He wasn't crazy like whoever had done this to JD.

"This can't be…" I stammered weakly. I dropped the papers. They hit the floor noiselessly, scattering out of order. Neither of us made a move to pick them up.

Carla looked at me hard. "Go on, Perry. We're all that he's got."

My hand reached for the door. "Don't think I'm going in there because you told me to," I said lowly.

Carla smirked. "When have you ever listened?"

I took a deep breath. "Never." Then I opened the door.

She was wrong about one thing. The kid didn't wake up the second I walked in. His arms remained limp at his sides, a far cry from the fidgety kid who raced around these hallways. His hair wasn't gelled up for once, matted on his forehead. It didn't look like the Newbie I knew and made fun of.

So I wouldn't make fun of him. Not today. Maybe some other day, when he wasn't laying helpless in a hospital bed—but not today.

I sat down and touched his hand. He still didn't wake. He would have looked dead if it weren't for his chest slowly rising and falling, the occasional unconscious shudder in his breath.

How did it ever get so bad? I wondered. Everything…everything had gone wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Not for me, not for Newbie, not for anyone. So how was it that our lives got so screwed up, and God or whatever unfathomable force could never leave well enough alone? I was happy—ignorance is bliss. When Newbie hadn't gotten sick, when I hadn't known about his past, when I didn't have to feel the constant guilt that was still gnawing at me even as I sat in his hospital room…I was _happy._ I had a wife, a kid, a decent job, and friends. I thought I was an okay person.

But I'm not an okay person. I'm not even an okay friend. I couldn't even suck it up to see the kid until we were sure he was going to live, because for once it was _me_ being the total coward.

Newbie's eyes opened, still wide as ever but still subdued. He didn't see me at first. I wondered if he could feel my hand on his, and I pulled mine back instinctively. He did feel it, though, and his gaze shifted over to me.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. "Do…doctor Cox," he gasped out.

I pursed my lips, feeling frozen. What the hell was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to make this better for him when I couldn't even make it better for myself?

"Yeah," I said. _The one and only_, I thought bitterly. "It's me."

He looked up at the ceiling then, as if he were almost afraid to look at me. I realized my vision was blurred as my eyes watered. But there was no way in hell I'd let myself cry in front of the kid, there was just no way.

"You do realize," I started slowly, "what you've done. Right?"

He closed his eyes as if in thought, either unable or unwilling to respond.

"Every damn person in this godforsaken hellhole—" He smiled slightly at that, and my voice broke off. "It's not funny," I say quietly, my voice beginning to rise. "Everyone, Newbie, and I mean _everyone—_they've been nagging me endlessly. And you want to know why, kid? You want to know _why_?"

The smile was gone. His eyes were open again, staring distantly.

"I'm the only one. Damn it, I am the only one," I said, feeling slightly mad as the heat rushed into my face. "I couldn't just be here for you. It's just not that simple for me. Everyone else…they come in here, they reminisce and say crap words that are supposed to be comforting and then they leave. But I couldn't do that, could I?"

_You don't really hate him, do you?_

His mother's words echoed in my head. My thoughts were completely convoluted, jumping from one issue to the other. I had to tell the kid something, but I didn't know what. And I couldn't screw it up. I'd had days to come up with whatever I was going to say; why couldn't I just spit it out?

The thoughts continued to spiral until finally I asked the stupidest thing I could possibly ask.

"You don't think I hate you, do you?" I asked wearily, the words sounding like a confession. In a way, it was a confession. I was confessing that I cared and that it was hard for me to…to be _that guy_ that was there for people.

Before he could answer, I continued with the riddance of my own guilt, bearing it off my chest as the words were spoken aloud. "Because I don't hate you, JD. I don't. And I don't want you to think…that I was just ignoring you. Because…it upset me, too."

I had to look away from him then, realizing that there were tears in my eyes that wouldn't stay back if I kept talking. And damn it, I had better not stop now that I was on a roll, because I knew I'd never have the balls to face him again if I didn't.

"I guess I just…it's always been you. I know that even if I mercilessly mock you, you'll always be there, that same dorky kid that…" I'd promised myself no insults, but he needed to hear it. "Sometimes it's like you're the only thing this hospital can count on, as stupid and goofy as you can be. You actually care. You don't get wrapped up in all that other crap like money and power. And if we lose that…" I couldn't even finish the sentence. I didn't think I would know how.

I took a deep breath, trying to focus on what I was saying. "What I'm trying to tell you is that I'm sorry," I said straightforwardly, feeling a tear roll down my cheek. And even though I wouldn't look up for shame that he might see me, I didn't hate myself for crying. It was the first time that I ever let myself cry without thinking of myself as a wuss.

"I'm sorry for avoiding you these past few days. I was…afraid."

I saw his eyes water too, and I thought of how pride was a funny thing. There was Newbie, who hid everything from his abusive past to the illness he struggled with until his collapse; there was Mrs. Andrews, who held a grudge against her son for twelve years before finally apologizing; then there was me, the guy who couldn't face his friend being sick. It was a twisted thing, pride. It made us do the stupidest things, but sometimes it was all that we had.

"By golly, Carly, let's not get all emotional here," I said sarcastically through my own tears. "You'll ruin your make-up and your date for Homecoming will think you're a-habsolutely hideous. I just don't think you can afford that mishap, considering you didn't even bother to do your hair. And to be honest, that gown you picked out? It matches your eyes, but I just don't think the cut was right. It sort of screams 'hospital patient,' if you know what I mean."

Phew. It felt good to get that off my chest. I stood up, feeling free of guilt for the first time in a week.

Except that still didn't make the years of abuse go away. It didn't make the horrors the kid had experienced disappear. It could never _really _make everything go away.

I looked over at his hand that I had grabbed earlier, looked over at it for the first time while actually seeing it. There was a long, violent scar that traced the top of his hand to the top of his forearm, and a scar that could only be from a burn that was visible on the part of his chest that the gown didn't conceal. They weren't the only marks. His other arm was branded with the misery as well.

He'd always worn long sleeves under his scrubs, even in the summertime. Told everyone it was because the evil janitor kept pumping up the air conditioning. Now I knew why he'd made such stupid excuses.

But that—that was a whole different ball game. We'd get to that in due time. Even I knew that there was only so much that I could do.

I was about to leave when Newbie took a deep breath and croaked out, "Thank…you."

I couldn't bring myself to say "you're welcome." I hadn't actually done him a favor; I didn't deserve his thanks. So instead I said, "I'll see you later, JD."

* * *

That's right! Finally, the Dr. Cox-and-JD sobfest. Aw, c'mon, admit it, that's what you were waiting for, wasn't it?? Admit it, you pansies! 

Mmkay. I've had more than seven reviews (a lot of anonymous, or I'd just email you all myself) asking what the acronym **JDA **means. Well, see, I was writing this fic and if you read on the bottom of one of the previous chapters, I decided randomly to make up an acronym to describe "JD Angst" fics (hence the JDA). So this is my trademark, everyone...lol...I created the phrase exclusively for the use of anyone brave enough to write JD angst. So if you write a JDA fic, by all means, slap the label on your summary!! Cuz then I might feel important...lol...plus it helps everyone pick out the REALLY good fics (because the juiciest most wonderful fics are angsty, right? RIGHT??).

Alrighty, then...review:D


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